Winter Snow and Thorny Roses
by Phantomphaeton
Summary: Because in the end, two is always better than one.


_Once upon a time, in deep winter, a queen was admiring the falling snow when she saw a rose blooming in defiance of the cold. Reaching for it, she pricked her finger, and six drops of blood fell. _

_And because the red seemed so alive against the white she thought 'If only I had a daughter with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as a raven's wings, with the strength and defiance of that rose.'_

_The queen's wish for a daughter was granted in kind. One year later, Fate granted her two. Both identical in beauty, both with hair as black as the wings of a raven, both with lips as red as blood, both with skin as white as the winter snow. Snow White and Rose Red, twin princesses of Tabor. _

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

The ground beneath her feet was colder than ever now. The closer the maid got to the main doors, the faster her heart beat. She flung her body against the doorframe, where her King and Queen stood conversing with Duke Hammond and his eleven year old son William.

"Mora?" her Queen called upon seeing her. "What on earth are you doing here? Where's your coat? It's the middle of winter!"

"Madame—" Mora paused to draw in a breath. "It's—it's Princess Rose!"

"What is the matter?" asked the King.

"She's—just come!"

And Mora led the King and Queen back inside, Duke Hammond and William in tow. The guards all perked up at the sight of this commotion. The maids watched surprisedly and stood aside. Finally, Mora pushed open the door to Rose's bedroom. The Queen gasped.

"What in the hell?" Duke Hammond barely whispered, crossing himself.

Seven year old Rose's bedroom walls were spattered with blood. The bed was empty. The sheets were drawn. And there, by the fireplace, Snow White's doppelganger Rose Red stood over the corpse of a deer. The animal was lifeless, coated in blood and punctured in every visible area. Rose stood over the deer, a carving knife in her small, bloody hands. A few drops had spattered onto the pale skin of her face. She looked up at them with large, light gray eyes.

"It came in through the window," she said simply, wiping the knife on a patch of clean fur from the deer's body. Her mother paled.

The door opposite them opened and Snow White peeked her head out.

"It's late, Mama," she said, rubbing her eyes with a small fist as she stepped out into the hallway. "What is the matter?"

And she slipped into the room before her father could stop her. She stared at the mess for a few moments.

"Rose, where did you get that knife?" asked the Queen.

"The kitchen," Rose answered.

"Why do you have it in your room?"

"I like it."

"Give it to me, Rosie," her father said, holding out his hand. Rose dropped the knife into his palm. Snow White stared at Rose Red, her hands over her mouth.

"Rosie," her mother groaned. "I've told you before, when things come into the room, you must call someone!"

"It could've killed me by the time anyone got inside to help," Rose said. She looked around at them all. Her eyes were wide with alarm. Snow reached forward and took her hand, leading her out of the room.

Snow took Rose into her bedroom, where they washed the blood off of Rose's hands and face before they tucked under the covers of Snow's bed.

"They think something's wrong with me," Rose whispered to Snow. "Ever since the forest—"

"That's not true," Snow said quickly. "They don't think that."

"Yes, they do," Rose said. "Did you see the way William looked at me?"

"They were just surprised is all, Rosie," Snow assured her. "You took down a whole deer all by yourself."

"It wasn't even that big," Rose said.

"But still. It could have hurt you and you still beat it."

Rose sighed, looking towards the fireplace. Snow laid a hand on her arm comfortingly.

"I thought you were terrific," Snow said. Rose looked at her.

"Did you really?" she asked. Snow nodded.

"Absolutely. I think you've earned your own medal of valor. We could ask Papa if princesses get medals of valor."

"Maybe."

They drifted off to sleep peacefully that night, despite the horror being cleaned up right across the hallway. Such situations were not uncommon in the castle. Where Snow White would bring a sick animal home to be cared for, Rose Red would probably kill it to end its misery.

Snow White could easily say she prized this sister that was precisely one minute and thirteen seconds younger than herself. Rose was misunderstood, Snow had long ago decided. She had been lost from their father on a hunting party once on their fifth birthday. They had believed her to be dead until she mysteriously reappeared the next day, but since the day they found her again, she has not been the same. Mystics and doctors and her mother all tried their hardest, but no one could get Rose to speak a word of her time alone in the Dark Forest while she was lost.

"I can't find a doctor in this entire kingdom that can get her to say something!" the King yelled exasperatedly, smacking his fist against a table. The Queen winced.

"Stop!" she said abruptly. "You'll wake the girls!"

But what neither the King nor the Queen knew was that their girls were already awakened by their commotion and standing just outside the door, bent over and listening intently.

The Queen sighed. "She doesn't need a doctor. Maybe we should try Father Simian."

"Father Simian is a bastard!" the King hissed. "I wouldn't send him either of my children."

"I'd like to know how she gets her hands on those knives," the Queen says. "No one ever sees her in the kitchens."

"Then we should try a more practiced doctor," the King said. "A foreign one."

"Perhaps," the Queen said, looking to the window. Another sigh. "What is _wrong_ with that child?"

Snow reached for Rose's hand instinctively to give it a reassuring squeeze. But nothing was there. She turned her head. Rose was turning the corner, disappearing from sight.

Rose was running to her favorite place in the castle before she even knew it. The Temple of St. Adria—more of a decoration than an actual temple—stood as a monument in the center of the garden. And there, inside the Temple, was mounted the marble likeness of St. Adria herself. Rose could not bring herself to admit it aloud—there was much that she was wary of confessing—but there were times when she loved the statue of St. Adria more than she loved actual people.

St. Adria was Rose's guiding light after she returned home from her time in the Dark Forest. When she could not bring herself to look at anyone, she would run to St. Adria. When nightmares of the forest plagued her, she would run to St. Adria. When she was most afraid, most anxious, most desolate, she would run to St. Adria. And there, beside the stunning veiled woman in white, she would find peace.

Rose sank to the cold marble floor. Her night gown was not very much protection against the bitter winter cold. But she did not care. Here, before the St. Adria, she waited for harmony to come. She closed her eyes and succumbed to a slumber that brought with it true concord.

When she awoke, the sky was still black. She could see the flakes of snow falling outside the temple, but she could not feel any cold. In fact, she felt the extreme warmth of a fire, but there was no glow in sight. She was wrapped in a fur lined coat. She looked around and saw that William of all people was beside her, holding her tightly against himself. He was completely unconscious. Never before had he come to look for her. She squeezed the clasp of his coat so tightly, a brass button snapped off into her palm. She bit her lip. He was eleven. A man now, by her seven year old standards. But it couldn't hurt to try.

She leaned her head over and kissed the corner of his mouth. He stirred but did not awake. She turned over so her back was to him, and kept her hidden adoration of young Duke William a secret of her heart that no one—not even William himself—could ever know.

'_The next winter was the harshest in memory and the beloved queen passed away. The King was inconsolable.'_

When the wretched fever finally claimed the Queen, it was Rose, and not Snow, who had been there with her. It had been Rose who had spoken to her last, and Rose who had heard her final words, and Rose who had quietly walked to their father's study, where he spoke with the doctor, to alert him to the fact that her mother had finally succumbed to death.

Rose had let Snow sleep until morning when she finally told her. What was exchanged between the Queen and Rose in those last few hours, none could know. Yet another secret that Rose kept locked in her heart.

The King stood in the garden after the funeral, staring out at the apple tree the Queen had loved so well. Snow White and Rose Red stood on either side of him, Snow White watching the tree, and Rose Red watching their father. She felt a thickness in her throat and reached up, sliding her hand into his. He coldly shook off the gesture, walking towards the tree. Snow White followed him. Rose stayed behind, leaning her weight against the column. Snow White slipped her hand into their father's. He squeezed it tightly before she pulled back and approached Rose. Snow White had tears in her eyes. Rose's eyes were empty.

"He likes you better," Rose says quietly. "You remind him of her."

"We look the same," Snow says, wiping a tear. "We both remind him of her."

"No," Rose says, shaking her head slightly. "I speak of manner, not looks. You remind him of her."

To this, Snow White could not say a word. She knew Rose Red was right.

The next few months were the worst time Snow and Rose had ever seen in the castle. Their father disappeared in his study for hours every day. The spring came, but no warmth was ever to be found again in their father's arms.

"My King!" Mora came into the dining hall one night, breathless. The King looked up from his conversation with Duke Hammond. "It is Rose!"

The King followed Mora to Rose's bedroom. This time it was a wild boar. Rose looked up at him. Half the castle was awake. Snow White peeked into the room.

"Oh, Rosie," she groaned. William appeared behind Snow.

"He came in through the window," Rose said quietly, holding out the knife. This time it was a bread knife. "I'm sorry, Papa."

Her father stared at the mess for a moment, then lunged forward and lifted her into the air. There was nothing fatherly about his gaze.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked, shaking her. "What is wrong with you?"

"My Lord," Duke Hammond called. "She's just a child."

The King looked to the Duke, then dropped Rose to the floor.

"Mora, get this cleaned up. You," he barked at Rose. "I am fed up with this nonsense. _Fed up_."

Rose did not move an inch. She did not blink or breathe or flinch. But Snow saw, in the glistening light of the candle, that her eyes were beginning to gather water.

Later on in the night, Snow felt Rose climb out of bed, presumably to sneak out to their parent's parlor. She did not follow her. When Rose returned, she did so quickly, climbing into bed and huddling into a tiny ball. Snow lifted her head curiously, placing a hand onto her shoulder.

"Rosie?" she whispered in the dark.

"He told the Duke that I'm a monster," Rose said quietly. Slowly, Rose began to tremble beneath Snow's hand.

'_Taking advantage of his grief, a dark and mysterious army appeared and lured him into battle. The dark army was defeated, but what would soon come to pass was far darker._

_So enchanted by Ravenna's beauty was the King that he forgot, for the first time, his broken heart and the very next day, she would become his wife._'

"You're so beautiful," the girls said simultaneously. Although Rose hated—truly hated—to admit it, the woman seemed like she honestly wouldn't be so bad to have around.

"That's kind," Ravenna said, leaning forward. "Especially when it is said that yours are the faces of true beauty in this Kingdom! This must be difficult for you. I, too, lost my mother when I was a young girl. I can never take her place. Never. But I feel that the three of us are bound. I feel it there," and she gestured to their chests. "In your hearts."

"There is enough room for you as well," Snow said sweetly. Ravenna smiled at her.

"Snow White, could you fetch my bracelet?"

Snow White beamed at her, hopping out of her seat and skipping out of the room. Ravenna looked back at Rose.

"So you are Rose Red," Ravenna said, smiling at her. "I've been wanting to shake off Snow White, but I didn't know which one she was. You're so identical."

Rose shrugged. Ravenna waved the maids away, getting down on one knee and holding out her hand. Rose slowly slid out of her seat and laid her hand in Ravenna's.

"Mora told me about you, Rose," Ravenna said, closing her finger's over Rose's hand delicately. "She had quite a bit to warn me about your...nighttime activity."

Rose blushed. Ravenna stroked her hair.

"I don't think they understand you," Ravenna said. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. No one really understood me, either."

"Did you find wild animals in your room at night?" Rose asked. Ravenna smiled.

"Sometimes," she said. "But I didn't leave my window open and put bait on my windowsill for those animals to find their way in there."

Rose blushed deeper. Ravenna shook her head.

"Don't think on it, Rose. You and I are very alike. When these celebrations are done, and I am no longer the subject of everyone's gossip, you and I will have plenty of time to be misunderstood together."

Rose bit her lip. Never before had she heard words like this, not even from her own mother. And hearing Ravenna say them now, it occurred to Rose just how desolate she's felt since the day in the Dark Forest. Rose sank into Ravenna's outstretched arms. Ravenna kissed her hair.

"I think you might just be my favorite," Ravenna whispered.

Rose felt a tear slide down her cheek, because at last, she had met someone who did not turn her away in favor of Snow White. And the realization that she had at last found someone who would not shake her off, someone who would not stare at her confusedly, someone who _understood_, made her throat go thick and her heart seem ready to burst.

Ravenna held Rose tightly until Snow returned, when they promptly resumed their positions and Snow cluelessly handed Ravenna her bracelet. Ravenna winked at Rose when Snow wasn't looking. Rose smiled.

Rose and Snow were dressed identically in brilliant, pearly white. They were stunning—heart-stoppingly so—and this riveted every eye from the bride to the girls holding the ends of her gown behind her. Snow beamed at Ravenna at every opportunity, and Rose's eyes did not leave the floor once throughout the ceremony.

'_She had tricked her way into the Kingdom with a phantom army. She now welcomed a very real one.'_

Rose awoke in the middle of the night with a fast-pacing heart and an aching head.

She tried to reach her father. She tried to reach Snow White. She tried to find the Duke. She tried to do something—anything—that would have made that night turn out differently. But she couldn't. And so the night played out exactly as it was planned to. Her father murdered. Her home overtaken. Her stepmother, leading the heathens would destroy the land.

"What shall we do with them?" asked a guard, holding the twins up. Ravenna looked at them both.

"Where did you find that one?" she asked, gesturing to Rose, whose fingers were bleeding profusely.

"Climbing the west tower," answered the guard. "She was trying to light the beacon."

"Then of course, she must be Rose," Ravenna said, smiling. "Snow might be smart enough to think of it, but only Rose is brave enough to try it. Is that you, Rose?"

Rose did not answer. Snow White looked at her.

"No," Snow White said at last. "I am Rose Red."

Rose blinked at her. "And I am Snow White," Rose added. Ravenna smiled.

"Alright, then," she said. "Rose stays here, in the North Tower. No one is to harm her. I told you, Rosie," Ravenna said, stroking Snow White's hair. "That you might be my favorite, and much good can come from being the favorite of a Queen."

Snow White looked at Ravenna. "What about R—Snow White?" she asked quietly. Ravenna smiled, turning to face Rose Red.

"Snow White isn't like us, Rosie," Ravenna said, lifting Rose's face to the light by her chin. "She doesn't know what it's like to be battle-scarred at so young an age. Everything is too easy for her," Ravenna sighed, waving her hand at Rose Red dismissively. "Take Snow White to Valestrom. I don't want to see her. Maybe her time there will show her what it's like to be one of us, Rosie," Ravenna added, shrugging.

'_What the twins had hoped to accomplish by assuming each other's identities, no one could guess. Not even them. Perhaps it was to protect. Perhaps it was to buy them time. Perhaps it was anything—anything but what it led to instead. Snow White lived imprisoned within the North Tower, protected from the evil lurking outside the walls of her cell by Ravenna's affection for Rose Red, while the real Rose Red took her sister's place in Valestrom Prison in the frozen wasteland that was the outskirts of the Kingdom of Tabor.'_

If Rose Red had learned anything about Ravenna's true colors so far—castle take-over aside—it was that the woman truly hated the idea of a youngster living a happy childhood. Rose could guess that it was her own miserable childhood that had made her this way.

But surely, Ravenna had not spent her childhood in Valestrom Prison. Had she?

Valestrom Prison was a tall tower of solid rock in the center of Galarel Cross, a part of Tabor that was cleverly placed just outside of the Kingdom's boundaries, a safe distance away from any village. There were precisely four entrances into the prison, eight watch towers, and eight hundred guards on hand. The prison housed anywhere between two and three hundred of the most dangerous of Tabor's criminals.

Rose's cell was located on the highest floor, where the cold winds were at their strongest. The cell was as rocky as the tower's exterior. The snow pounded mercilessly outside the window that had no board to pull back to stop the wind. There was a small pile of straw in one corner where the previous lodger must have slept. The straw did nothing to block out the cold from the stone floor. Rose looked around the small room. Some hundred or so miles away, Snow was being locked up in a cell as well. And even though this whole situation was a thorn in her side, Rose had to admit that if she was going to be a prisoner, she would much rather it be here than in her own home.

People in Valestrom were large, depraved, angry souls. It made sense to Rose that this was so. If they were not, then they would not be there, would they?

Galarel Cross was frozen in a perpetual state of bitter winter. Rose could tell when Spring and Summer came along, because although the winds still devastated, they did not leave her bones rattling the way they did in the Autumn and Winter months.

Her sanity was preserved in memories. Small, happy memories that would take her back to that castle across the miles. She thought of William, wondering where he was—if he was still alive. She thought of the kiss she stole from him that cold December night in St. Adria's temple, the night he had held her like no one else existed to him. She liked to imagine that that was true, but in all honesty, he was only worried about her.

She also thought of the mysterious Giver, as she liked to call the one who had presented her with a gift on her own little private holiday. Her time in the Dark Forest those years ago was something she would never share with anyone. The day she finally escaped, she declared her own little holiday. No one else celebrated it, but she did not expect them to. She kept it another of her many secrets. But that last holiday in the castle, she had spent the morning poring over a ruby ring someone had left for her in her room. They could only have snuck in and left it there during the night. And they did not leave a note or a word of explanation, nor did they leave a name. But she loved that ring. That day, she wore it and pranced around the castle in the hopes that its sender would make themselves known. They never did, but she saw her father smirk a few times at the sight of it that day. That ring was there with her in Valestrom—the only proof she had left that she was indeed loved by her father in his last days.

Time in Valestrom passed slowly. Rose tried to keep track of the days, but they slipped away from her so easily. Hope was gone, replaced only by anger, desolation, fear. The only way to leave Valestrom, as she later learned, was to die. In death, many of the prisoners who came and went found freedom. It was a long while before she could look up at the sky outside of her window and see something other than a hopeless future. Slowly, slowly, the jagged pieces of her shattered life fell back into place. They did not fit together as she would have liked, but they came together. She adjusted to the rules of life in Valestrom.

Rule #1: Ration your food.

This rule was the most important. It was the first one she had learned, and she had learned it the hard way. A tray of bread and wine had arrived in her cell, and she—thinking herself still a princess—ate every bite and drank every drop. Almost two days later, when nothing else had arrived, she learned that when meals came, they were to be saved. Soon, she could go up to three days on only a mouthful of bread.

Rule #2: Learn the tools to a good trade.

During one hour in the afternoon—when the sun was at its highest point—the guards would unlock the cells and allow the prisoners to roam the hall of their particular floor. On that floor, Rose found her cell-mate, an older woman named Yolanda, who had married and murdered eight husbands for their money. Yolanda was—by Valestrom prison means—well off. She sold herself at night to the male prisoners and sometimes even the guards in exchange for extra food or supplies. Rose watched her carefully, learning the art of trading one thing for another—the first thing she traded was the lace nightgown on her back in exchange for a courser layer of fabric to shield her in the coldest months. The second thing she traded was a ration of bread for a thin sheet of linen to use as a blanket. The third thing she traded was her necklace—the last gift her mother ever gave her—for a pair of shoes. Rose would trade in wine or gauze or linen, but she never traded the ruby ring. It was the only thing she would not part with, the only reminder she had to herself of the life she once lived.

Rule #3: Sleep with one eye open.

As time passed, Rose came to master Rule #2 and her cell became tolerable. Extra straw for fires became a regular demand for her. A small cup of oil to help a fire along in windy weather when it would not stay alight. Thin, hard bread stored in the carefully dusted spot behind a loose block of stone beneath her window. A flask to hide her wine. Such things were not easily acquired by anyone but Yolanda, and not easily traded for by anyone but Rose. Her cell door was locked at the end of their free hour every day, but Rose always slid a thin slab of stone into the latch to ensure the door would jam if ever tampered with during the night.

Rule #4: Find a weapon.

Rose could say this rule directly extended from the one before it. Prisoners with objects of fancy were the most obvious targets. When hiding her prized wares wasn't enough, defense was necessary. It was on her third month in Valestrom that Rose made her first steal. Mid-afternoon, when the guard had unlocked her cell. Rose usually waited until he was gone until she went out to trade, but this time she ran out after him. She slid her thin fingers into the hilt of his belt, and ran back to her room with his knife in her hand. That afternoon, she did not leave her cell, not even to trade with Yolanda. She found a place to hide the knife during the day, and she slept with it clutched tightly in her hand every night.

Rule #5: Hide your identity.

Rose would not tell a soul who she was—and she would be hard-pressed, in any case, to find someone who would believe her—but she did not refer to keeping her identity as a princess a secret so much as she meant keeping her identity as a _female_ a secret. This, she learned from Yolanda, from watching guards enter her cell every night when everyone was supposed to be asleep, their hands clutching a bag of goods and emerging with satisfied faces. Rose could not drown out the sounds, or the image of the men leaving. But she learned early on that in Valestrom, where the prisoners were predominantly men who hadn't seen a woman in as long as they had been there, being female was the equivalent of being on death row. Her fifth trade with Yolanda was as much linen as she could acquire, all of which she used to make a hood to hide the length of her hair, to cover her face in the style of a desert wanderer. Prisoners thought she was only a dwarf, shielding herself from the bitter cold. Rose preferred it to stay that way.

As the years passed, Rose began to grow into womanhood, and in any other situation besides her own, this would not have been nearly as dangerous. She could not imagine ending up like Yolanda. So she began to trade for extra linen to wrap her growing chest tighter, making herself flat as a man. When her bleeding began, it was Yolanda who she ran to, trading extra bread and wine for gauze and water. Her feminity became harder to hide as the time progressed, with her body forming curves in places that she wished they wouldn't for the sake of her own safety. Her childish face—which back then could have been mistaken for any extremely pretty young boy—became the face of a stunning beautiful young woman, further necessitating her need for a covered face at all hours of the day. She held the knife so tightly at night that her fingers would almost snap from the pressure. She awoke at the slightest disturbance, be it the steps of a guard doing his nightly rounds or a prisoner snoring particularly loudly. Cold became something that was etched in her bones, something she did not know if she would ever be able to shake off or live without.

And all the while, new prisoners would come and go in Valestrom. They could not learn the rules of survival fast enough. They were claimed by death, either from hunger or from thirst or from cold or from fighting for wares. But Rose particularly valued these new arrivals, because they always brought with them the promise of information. Rose came to learn the state of Tabor as the years passed. The kingdom her father and mother had once ruled was nothing anymore, but a barren dead wasteland no better than Valestrom Prison itself. Snow White was—by all counts—dead. Rose did not think to expect anything less than that. After all, she, too, was technically dead. And then her train of thought would lead her back to Snow, and she would try to think of her—not as the children they were, the children Rose could remember them being—but rather as the women that they could have become had they not encountered Ravenna.

Soon the new arrivals became useless. They were never very interesting after the first batch, anyways. They only brought with them the usual complaints—a dying Kingdom and a vicious usurping queen. After that, Rose returned to her usual social circle, which consisted entirely and only of Yolanda.

One day, a raven came and perched itself upon her window. To tell the truth, it terrified Rose more than anything else, and so her first instinct was to kill it. Later, when it was plucked and sitting there headless in the corner of her cell, she wondered if there was any way to cook it without attracting attention. There was none. The bird was useless to her, then. That same night, the guards came to do their rounds, and by then, the sounds of their steps naturally had Rose wide awake. But today a different noise was with them, a noise Rose had never heard in Valestrom before.

It was one of the watchcats. Valestrom was home to hundreds of them. They came with the guards, their neck in a tight metal collar held on a chain leash. Rose had seen them at night before. They were all enormously large, white and gray, with menacing growls and razor sharp teeth. But this one that strayed from his guard lingered outside of her cell, watching her. Rose looked up and noticed that its gaze was not threatening. It was whimpering, almost.

Rose stared at it for a moment. For a moment—only a moment—she thought she could see, in the cat's eyes, her own pain reflected. She sighed, backing up against the wall. The guard cats were trained not to break the cell doors, but Yolanda had told Rose stories of cats that had done it before to snack on the cell inhabitants. Rose suddenly, and strangely, felt a surge of pity for the large cat. To feed their animosity, the guards would sometimes starve them as well. Rose was backed up against the wall when her hand found the dead bird from that morning. She picked it up and looked back at the whimpering cat at her cell door. She held the bird up. She could have sworn she heard the low rumble of the cat's stomach. She held the bird out, inching closer, ready to snatch her hand back at the slightest sudden movement. The cat dipped its head in between the bars, its large blue eyes never leaving hers, before sliding its tongue between the bird and her palm, lifting the meat, and swallowing it whole.

She retracted her hand as quickly as she could, her other hand still tightly clutching the dagger, before she scurried back to the corner of her cell. The cat only watched her for another moment before the guard returned from his round and pulled on the chain leash, dragging the cat away.

Rose didn't see the cat again until the next week or so. A new guard did the rounds every night, and each new guard brought their own new cat. She did not know which one was the one she had encountered that night, but she could tell which one it was because the next time it came, it paused outside of her cell, watching her. Sometimes, she had a dead bird to throw in its direction, sometimes she had nothing. Meat in Valestrom was an all-time rarity, but Rose began to ration that, too, over time, to have something for the cat when it arrived. Tiny bits and pieces saved from each meal would go into the coldest corner where they wouldn't rot and by the end of the week when it would arrive, the small bits and pieces would have piled up into a reasonably sized meal. Soon, she learned it was a male cat by the way the guard would speak to it. Its name was Galdran. Rose called it Russav, for the gentle cat her mother used to keep. It had to have been at least a year when she finally had the courage to reach out and touch him.

She had been as careful as could be. She held her knife tightly in her free hand, and with the other, she reached out between the bars. The guard had turned the corner in his rounds. Everyone was asleep. The cat sat there, watching her, reaching her waist in his sitting position. He watched her hand, noting that it was empty this time, and eyed her for what seemed to Rose like minutes before he slowly ducked his head into her palm. She stroked it absently for a moment, almost smiling for the first time in years, before the steps of the guard returned and she pulled back her hand. The cat left with the guard, but after that night, he returned with his guard every week for a handful of meat or a petting.

It was a particularly bitter cold day when it happened. A pair of birds—tiny, black birds with sweet songs—that had fluttered by her window. She hadn't known what they were searching for, and she couldn't imagine much use for them besides cooking them, and since cooking them was out of the question, she shooed them away. The guards had unlocked the doors at midday and Rose had waited until they were out of sight before she pulled open her door and slipped over to Yolanda's cell unnoticed. Yolanda was waiting for her, as always, trading her for gauze and linen and oil and wine, and Rose had left the cell with a 'thank you' and slipped back out into the hallway. A large prisoner, an older one who had been there for nearly twelve years that she knew only as Lucian, had brushed past her. To him it would have been a simple brush of shoulder, but his weight had knocked Rose off balance, and she tumbled to the ground. Her wares spilled all around her, but this was not what worried her the most. What worried her most was that her scarf had fallen from her head. Long black barrel curls spilled out onto her shoulders, touching the small of her back. A heart-stoppingly beautiful face—one that had been hidden safely for years—was in full view. And that man—the man that hadn't been with anyone besides Yolanda in the past twelve years—looked down at her with eyes that betrayed his surprise.

And Rose's dagger was back in her cell.

That night, no one even looked past their doors when Rose screamed for help. No one tried to calm down the raging, lust-filled man. No one even raised a finger. Because Lucian had done it, something no one had ever bothered to do. He had tipped a guard to leave his cell unlocked, and then another to unlock hers, and she was powerless against him.

She was stripped down to her skin with his mouth at her neck when she finally managed to extract her knife from its daily hiding place. And she had closed her eyes, she remembered, as she slowly slid the blade in between his ribs right down to the hilt and twisted and listened to the sounds of _his_ screams for a change. At this, people poked their heads around curiously. Rose didn't stop. She pulled the knife out, then jammed it in again, and pulled it out, and thrust it in again. And she pushed him off of her when she realized he was no longer breathing, and she slid as far away from him as she could and pulled her clothes back on with shaky fingers, because his eyes were still wide open, staring out at her. And she imagined, for a moment, that the cell door would open at any moment, and her father would come in and see the latest creature to sneak into her room, only to be met with a grisly end.

But no one came. The guard would not come for their round that night. Lucian had made sure of that. And so she pulled all of her fabric to her body, took her bread and wine flask into a makeshift bag, and hurried to Yolanda's cell door. Yolanda stared at her.

"I'm leaving," Rose said flatly, sliding her knife into the lock and twitching her wrist left and right until there was a 'click', and Yolanda's cell was unlocked. Yolanda nodded, picking up her own wares and walking out after her.

That night, Rose made her second steal, though she could hardly call it one, since the item in question belonged to her anyway. It was there, glistening in the moonlight in Yolanda's bag. Her necklace. And she reached in with the fingers that never made a fuss or twitched when they didn't have to, and she pulled the necklace back around her neck, hiding it beneath the fabric of her shirt. Yolanda didn't even notice.

Rose did not know which way they were going—it had been so many years ago when she had first been led inside. For Yolanda, it had been even longer. They wandered the Tower aimlessly, turning the corners and hiding from guards armed with sharp swords and ferocious, beautiful cats, before they finally reached what Rose could faintly recognize as the ground floor. Rose bundled her layers of fabric tighter around herself, sharply recalling how only hours earlier, she was unclothed and pinned beneath Lucian's weight, and shuddered delicately. She looked at the last barrier between her and freedom—a large oak door. One of the four exits.

In the end, it all came down to dumb luck. Perhaps chance had a hand in it. Rose was not sure. But somehow, the guard had gotten up to relieve himself in the far corner, and the door was unwatched. Rose took Yolanda's hand, and they tiptoed across the hall, to the main door. They hid along the wooden lining, hunger having worked in their favor for once and worn them both thin enough to disappear behind the doorframe, until the guard had done his business and slipped away to another room, muttering something to the men inside about getting a bit of mead. Rose and Yolanda ran to the gate, eying the bars. For the first time since the day Rose met her, she saw Yolanda smile.

"We can fit through these openings," Yolanda had said. Rose knew she was right.

And it was a tight squeeze, even for them, and not to mention the punishment that awaited them if they failed, and perhaps this was what kept Rose going. If she had been born in this hell, she would perhaps not be eager to escape. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she might even have liked it in Valestrom. As meager as it was, Valestrom was a guaranteed way of life. Food would come scarcely, but it would always come. She had linens and safety behind a locked cell—at least, she used to. She hated to admit it, but it was, in its own way, a home.

But Rose hadn't been born in this hell. She had been born in the regency room of a grand castle, with another beside her. She had been born into unimaginable wealth and unquestioned privilege, and although that was taken from her, that was her birthright. That was her life. And the realization that she could well have died in Valestrom is what propelled her forward and out of the gate. She turned and pulled Yolanda out through the hole. Together, they ran. They ran like they hadn't been locked up in a tiny cell for the past many years. There was nothing left for them in Valestrom.

Rose had forgotten the watch towers. They had almost been clean across the entrance yard when she saw the first one, black than the night sky behind it. She pulled Yolanda back at the last minute. They inched along the wall, out of sight.

"This is not good," Yolanda said, her breath puffing out into mist in the air, dancing before her for a moment before disappearing. Rose nodded, pulling her scarf down to her chin, uncovering her face to breath in new air. She leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. A snarl was heard beside them. Yolanda gasped quietly. Rose's eyes opened. Slowly, she turned her head to the right. A guard cat.

"God save us," Yolanda whispered, whimpering. Rose's eyes met the cat's. She had no way of telling, really, that it was that one cat, until it's eyes suddenly softened, and it rubbed its head against her elbow. Yolanda nearly fainted.

"It's you," Rose breathed quietly. "Russav."

She reached out to stroke his fur, but Yolanda stopped her.

"Are you mad, child?" she asked. "He'll kill you."

"No, no, I know this one," Rose said. "He won't."

And when she reached out, and Russav ducked his head beneath her palm, she smiled because she knew she had been right. Russav titled his head to their left, walking a few steps ahead. He stopped, turned, noticed them still standing against the wall, and sat down, waiting.

"I think he wants us to follow him," Rose said, pushing her weight off of the wall. Yolanda blinked at her.

"What is the matter with you?" Yolanda asked. Rose pulled her along.

"Trust me, Yolanda," Rose said quietly. She hurried along after Russav. Soon, she could hear the steps behind her that told her Yolanda had followed.

Rose did not know where Russav was leading them, and she prayed it wasn't to a den of guards. But soon, they arrived at what looked like an ancient door, covered in ice and branches. Russav stopped there, looking up at Rose.

"I didn't know there were five doors," Rose whispered. Yolanda shrugged.

"You think he wants out of here as well?" she asked, tilting her chin towards Russav. Rose nodded.

"But then he would've found a way out on his own," Rose said. Yolanda's eyes narrowed as she scanned the door. She shook her head.

"No, he wouldn't," Yolanda said. "This door is a vault door. The sort my third husband used to guard his coffers. This cat couldn't have broken it down. You'd need a key to open it. Or a way to pick the lock."

Rose pulled out her knife. "Like this?"

"Exactly," Yolanda said with a smile.

Rose chipped away at the ice as quietly as she could. Russav would lick at the ice every now and again, circling the area impatiently. Yolanda sat down on the hardened snow around them, watching Rose. Finally, the ice around the keyhole had been broken off, and Rose slipped the tip of the knife into the small crevice. She had picked from what seemed like ages before they all heard a distinct 'click', and Rose pushed the door open.

"God, it's dark in there," Yolanda said. Russav inched inside slowly. Rose took Yolanda's hand. There was no other way.

They shut the door tightly behind them. Now, without even the moonlight to reassure them, they felt their way along the tunnel. Rose kept a hand on Russav, and another on Yolanda. They walked longer than Rose could ever remember walking, feeling their way blindly through the dark. Rose expected that at any moment, her eyes would adjust and she would be able to see clearly, but that relief never came. The place was black—unendingly so, and for a few sickening moments, Rose allowed herself to think almost longingly of her cell.

After what felt like hours, they finally arrived at a dead end. Rose gave it a push. A few streaks of light peeked through. She and Yolanda sucked in a breath, giving it their strongest push, and the wall was knocked open. They looked around them.

"I know this place," Yolanda said. "I know this village."

And it was a village they had stumbled upon. The miles of frozen wasteland between Valestrom and the nearest civilization, they must have crossed underneath that tunnel. And looking around at the village that was just beginning to wake up, Rose realized that they had indeed been walking in that tunnel for hours—almost the entire night. 

The village was alive with the sound of chatter. They were right beside a sort of marketplace. Rose pulled her linen back over her face, pulling Russav's fur lightly. He followed them along. The further into the deep crowd they got, the less conspicuous they appeared. It felt to Rose as though the winter had barely touched this place, with all of the people everywhere blocking out the cold. Where they were going, Rose did not know. She only followed Yolanda, who was walking along quickly, as if searching for something. When at last she found it they were in a cold, empty alleyway. She beckoned Rose closer, picking at the lock with Rose's knife before they opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a small, modest little parlor they had entered, but Yolanda spun around in it and danced joyfully like she had just found home. It occurred to Rose that this was why.

"This is where I lived!" she exclaimed happily. "Me and my fourth husband!"

Rose inspected the house while Yolanda rejoiced at this reunion. Russav found a dusty pile of pillows in a corner and went to sleep.

"This place hasn't been touched in ages, Yolanda," Rose noticed. "Could it be that no one's been in it since your husband died?"

"It's his property," Yolanda said, shrugging. "I'd hardly be surprised if they didn't let anyone come in after his death."

Rose collapsed onto the pillows beside Russav and laid her head back. Yolanda gasped. Rose looked up.

"What is it?" Rose asked.

"If no one's been here since he died," Yolanda mused, eyes wide as saucers. "Then I wonder...could it still be here?"

She looked at Rose, pondering for a moment, before dashing out of the parlor. Rose raised a brow, listening to the sound of cluttering and clanking before Yolanda reappeared carrying an enormous burlap sack. Before Rose could ask her anything, Yolanda untied the sack and poured its contents onto the floor. Rose gasped.

"I had guessed that he had hidden his gold under that old floorboard," Yolanda said as a large pile of gold pieces glimmered in the candlelight.

Yolanda and Rose took a small handful of gold and locked the house securely before they covered their faces and headed into the market, where they purchased oil, wine, clothes, and an abundance of meat. They haggled for low prices, trying not to betray the fact that they were able to afford any price a merchant set. The last thing they wanted was to attract attention. When they returned to the house, Russav was still fast asleep in his corner. Rose took a pile of red meat from one of their bags and laid it down in front of him.

"Russav," she nudged him gently. Yolanda backed up towards the wall. "Russav, wake up."

A shuffle. One eye opened. Then the other. Russav looked up at them, then his eyes fell on the pile of meat by his head. He lifted himself and sniffed at the meat for a moment before chewing through it. Yolanda sighed with relief.

For the first time in years, Rose allowed herself to eat until she felt full. And although her stomach had shrunken to the size of a chestnut and she could hardly stomach as much as she thought she should have, she liked to imagine that she was going to remember that night for a long, long time. She grasped at the necklace beneath the layer of black fabric she had switched out for the worn old linen. She eyed the ruby ring on her pinky finger.

"What now?" Rose asked Yolanda. Yolanda looked at her.

"Now we head to Savona County," Yolanda said. "We can't stay here. By now the guards will have discovered our empty cells."

"Why Savona County?" asked Rose.

"My last husband died in Savona," Yolanda said. "All of my gold, my whole acquired fortune, should be exactly where I stashed it."

"I'm going in the opposite direction," Rose said.

"Where are you going?"

"Tabor City," Rose said.

"I have another small stash in Debegri," Yolanda said. "It's along the way. We can go as far as there together."

"We leave in the morning, then?" Rose asked.

"I suppose it seems right. Shouldn't stay here for too long," Yolanda said, shrugging. "This village is isolated. At least ten or so miles from the nearest city."

"So we'll need horses," Rose said.

"And supplies. Lots of it."

That night, Rose and Yolanda made a layer of pillows and blankets by the hearth and slept beside the fireplace. For once, Rose did not sleep with one eye open or with a knife in her hand. She dreamt of home, of Tabor Palace, where she could watch William chase his falcon around the garden, and relive that night when she awoke to find him cradling her, or listen to the adoration in his voice when he spoke to Snow White. Twice, her dreams took her to Snow White. Never did they linger there. No, her mind always took her back to him, to William, and she wondered to herself for the millionth time in years if he ever thought of that night in the temple as often as she did. If he ever thought about it the _way_ that she did. And then she'd remember that like everyone else back in Tabor City, he was in love with Snow White, and that meant that he couldn't—wouldn't—ever look at her but to see a strange child who got lost in the Dark Forest once and lured animals to slaughter inside her bedroom.

The next morning, Rose and Yolanda awoke early and went further into the market than they did the day before. Finding able horses was no easy task. Most of them had been confiscated for palace use. When they finally did find two brown stallions, they led them back to the house, where they carefully packed as much supplies as the horses could carry and strapped in their saddles.

"How are we going to hide him?" asked Rose, ushering to Russav. Yolanda bit her lip, looking around the street.

"There's a backwoods exit from this village," she said, tilting her head in the direction of a wet, dark street. "It'll take longer, but there are less people there to attract attention. As long as he doesn't try to kill anyone."

And through the backwoods exit they went. They didn't mount their horses until the village was well out of their sight. They didn't need to worry about going too fast for Russav. He was running ahead of them at their highest speed.

The roads were dead, black and devoid of life. Rose could not understand the complaints of the new-coming prisoners back in Valestrom, certain that they had exaggerated Ravenna's poisonous reign. But here, at last, she understood. The land was barren in a way that made Rose's cell suddenly look more inviting than ever. She and Yolanda stared at the dead world around them as they progressed, Rose feeling like each step from the mustang beneath her on this cold, decayed ground was another mouthful of sand someone had forced down her throat. She had not known her kingdom to be like this.

"Those boys back in Valestrom weren't messing around when they said wasteland," Yolanda noticed. Rose stayed silent.

Debegri was a large fortress of a city about two days away from the tiny village. Again, Rose had no clue where she was going. She relied entirely on Yolanda's memory. It served them well.

"Right here," Yolanda said, ducking beneath a stone platform and pushing a large stone out of place. She reached her hand inside and when it reemerged, another burlap sack was in her grasp.

"You have a dead husband with a house here, too?" asked Rose. Yolanda smirked.

"Of course I do," she said, tugging the reigns of her horse and leading the way.

Yolanda's fifth husband had a pretty little house that was between a bakery and a butcher's shop. The place was covered in almost an inch of dust and smelled of old parchment and ink.

"He was a writer," Yolanda explained as Rose laid a pile of meat before Russav. Yolanda sighed, her hands on her hips as she looked around. "I never thought I'd see this place again."

"We should leave tomorrow," Rose said. "I need to get to Tabor City as soon as possible."

"What's in Tabor City that's so important?" Yolanda asked.

"Family," Rose answered blankly.

"They'll be shocked to see you, I'll tell you that," Yolanda said, leaning closer to the fireplace and holding a candle to a piece of well-oiled wood. She poked at the fire and watched it crackle. "Because what we did...breaking out of there...that doesn't happen often."

"Has anyone else ever done it before?"

"A few," Yolanda says. "Some of the guards liked to talk about a girl who used to be there once."

"A girl?"

"Mm hm. A beautiful girl, just like you, who escaped almost fifty years ago."

"How did she escape?"

"The same way we did, I imagine," Yolanda guessed, shrugging. "Dumb luck and a really good cat."

Rose did not strike lucky again that night. She should have known that the happy sleep she had the first time would not come again. This night, her dreams were filled with William again, but all she could see was him watching Snow White. Him, chasing Snow White. Him, missing Snow White. Him, loving Snow White. And it was not likely that he was even still alive—Rose had mourned her losses years ago—but the bitter truth was something that Rose did not like to think of. The bitter truth that he never cared for her, that he could hardly look her way, that the only place she held in his heart was a position of pity.

A chill that had nothing to do with the winter made her eyes burn with unshed tears. She blinked them away and rolled over so neither Yolanda nor Russav could awaken and see her face.

The next morning, Yolanda helped Rose pack supplies onto her mustang. Russav waited by the door, eager to leave this crowded city.

"I'll lead you out the west side," Yolanda said, climbing onto her own horse. "Less people."

As they rode, Rose felt a feeling of dread washing over her. Here beside her rode Yolanda, pretty, blonde, late thirties Yolanda, who was, for the past eight years, the only company Rose had ever known.

"Will you stay in Savona after you get your money?" asked Rose. Yolanda shook her head.

"It was where I was arrested," Yolanda explains. "I can't stay, everyone will recognize me."

"Where can I find you?"

"I'll be at Dovine's Port," Yolanda said. "I've always liked the beach. You will visit me as soon as you've tended to your family business in Tabor City."

Yolanda spoke as though this was a fact, not a request. Rose nodded. Yolanda stopped.

"Here you are," she said, tilting her chin further along the road. "Keep far off of the road to avoid running into attention. Tabor City is just one straight ride from here. Should take a while, mind."

Rose nodded. Yolanda held up a burlap sack.

"Take this as well," she said, tying it to Rose's mustang. Rose heard the clinking of coins inside.

"Yolanda—"

"Not a word," Yolanda said, stubbornly shaking her head. "If it weren't for you, I'd still be in Valestrom right now." Rose sighed. Yolanda held out her hand. Rose slipped her pale fist into Yolanda's palm. She squeezed it tightly.

"Be careful, little flower," Yolanda said. "It's a cold world out there. No place for a pretty rose."

"Even a thorny one?" Rose asked. Yolanda smiled.

"Perhaps a thorny one might have hope," Yolanda said. "The thorniest roses grow in defiance of anything."

Rose smiled, allowing Yolanda to plant a soft kiss upon her head.

"Take care, Yolanda. I'll see you soon."

Rose could say it was nostalgia that caused her eyes to burn again as she watched Yolanda ride back to Debegri. Again, she blinked it away before Yolanda could turn and see it, but there was no danger. Yolanda was gone, leaving Rose with the mustang and Russav.

"Come, Russav," Rose said. "Let's get going."

The road became less black the further along Rose went, and more white. A thick sheet of snow and ice covered everything. If it did not have an eerie, unsettling feel to it, Rose might even have gone as far as to say it was enchanting. It was a wild, terrifying winter wonderland. Russav stopped to rest beside a tree when Rose decided that a break was in order. The tree-line ended for a curious ten or twelve feet before resuming its path ahead. She slid off of her horse and poured water from her skein into a bowl for the horse, then tossed a large chunk of beef at Russav. She leaned her head against the tree and sighed, turning slightly. She froze.

Yolanda had promised they would find no people if they kept away from the path. Well, maybe she hadn't guaranteed they wouldn't find _anyone_, but that was sort of what Rose had been hoping for. She felt her fingers tighten around the knife in the pocket of her dress. A man. A large, powerful man. A few more—dwarves? Seven of them. A girl, laughing heartily at a joke with one of the little men. She shifted. Froze. Felt her heart stop and her world dim and her pulse race before she exhaled jaggedly, her breath escaping between her lips in light mist that disappeared into the air. The people paused when they saw Rose. She pulled herself to her feet, only able to see that one girl. The girl finally noticed the stillness of her comrades, and her eyes met Rose's. There, they froze, and Rose imagined the same shock that had temporarily clouded her brain had clouded the girl's, too. Rose looked into the face of this girl. Was this her own reflection? Rose had not looked at herself lately. A pause as realization kicked in.

"Rosie?" the girl breathed, taking a step forward onto the undisturbed stretch of snow between the trees. Rose stared at Snow White, her eyes wide as plates, her brow furrowed. Rose took a step forward as well. Step after step, they inched closer, until they stood in the exact middle of the bare snow expanse. No one else had flexed a muscle.

Snow and Rose could only stare into each other's eyes, trying to imagine what mysterious turn of events could have transpired that might have brought this moment into play. Snow's eyes welled up with tears. Rose's were empty. Snow held up her hand. Rose slid hers into it. One and the same, identical.

CRACK.

Rose blinked, snapped out of her trance. Snow looked around to the men back by the trees. The large one stepped forward, looking at the expanse of snow. Rose pushed a bit of snow aside with her foot and felt her heart sink.

The reason no trees grew there? Simple. What they thought was a stretch of snow was really a layer of ice over a frozen river.

"Careful," said the large man. "Both of you step back carefully."

Snow instantly took a step backwards, tugging Rose along with her. Rose paused, looking back at Russav, who had perked up at the noise and was pacing the tree-line nervously. Rose took a gentle step back towards him.

CRACK.

"Quickly!" yelled one of the little men. Rose looked down at the ice. A second white line had met with the first one.

Crackle, crackle.

Little white lines appeared as if they were being drawn by an invisible hand, stretching out beneath them until they disappeared beneath the layer of snow outside of the wiped ice Rose had cleared.

"Rosie," Snow whispered again. Rose looked down at the ice. Her hand was still gripping Snow's tightly. She pulled Snow towards her, taking a deep breath. "Rosie?"

"I've got it, Snow," Rose breathed. "I've got it. Just let me think..."

Rose looked at the group of men on that side of the river, her eyes narrowing. Snow stepped forward.

CRACK.

"Rosie," Snow squeaked. "Come—" Another step from Snow.

CRACK.

"Hurry, girls!" said another of the dwarves. Rose closed her eyes tightly. Every step they took was only angering the ice. They wouldn't even make it across before it swallowed them. She sighed, pulling her hand out of Snow's grip. Snow looked back at her.

"What are you doing?" Snow asked.

"We're too heavy together," Rose said simply. Snow did not even have the time to figure out exactly what that meant, because in the next second, three things happened.

One: Another formidable CRACK echoed throughout the area.

Two: Rose shoved Snow back into the tree-line, into the arms of the large man.

Three: The ice broke, swallowing Rose into the black waters below.

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

Every nerve in her body screamed in protest against this icy domain she entered. It seemed that even her hair was panicking. Rose flailed around in the water, reaching for the surface, but the current carried her away from the hole she had fallen through. Over and over again, she tried to steady herself against the ice, but every time her fingers touched it, they would only skid along. The current was too strong. Rose suddenly felt a sharp, well-pronounced sting in her stomach, and then a searing pain as a crack echoed from her side. Her eyes shut tightly, her mouth instinctively opening to release a scream, but emitting only bubbles of air instead. She felt around in the black water. Her fingers found a thick, sturdy material—she had hit a log. Apparently, judging by the pain in her ribs and the sting along her stomach, she had done far more than simply hit it. Her head began to feel uncomfortably lighter. She flipped upside down and aimed a kick at the ice above her. A crack echoed throughout the water. She kicked again, her chest tightening. Another crack. She tried to kick a third time. Her foot didn't even reach the ice. She could swear her brain was sinking, her head had suddenly gotten so much heavier. She couldn't feel the sharp sting of the cold on her hands anymore. Everything had become comfortably numb. She could not tell if she had released the log or not, and in all honesty, it no longer mattered to her. What was to come from there on out was of no concern to her anymore. She closed her eyes. William was smiling at her, stroking her hair as he held her beneath the fur on the marble floor under the watchful eyes of St. Adria. She gave him a small smile back. He leaned in closer and kissed her face as everything finally faded into a peaceful, harmonious silence.

The oranges were in full bloom. Rose walked along the trees, touching the bark of each one. They seemed to gain color as she touched them. She held a thin book in her hands, running along the trees. A hand caught hers.

"There you are," said a voice. "Why are you always running from me?"

She turned and beamed. It was William. She could hardly see him properly. His face looked blurred, almost like she was looking through distorted stain-glass. It was not surprising that he should look like that. She was not in any way able to know what he would have looked like, what he might have grown into over the years. He was grown, though, just as she had.

"I'm not," she said, smiling. "I'm looking for a place to read this in peace."

"Let me see that," William said, reaching for the book. He skimmed through the pages, his brow furrowing. "Oh, you'll love this."

"Will I?"

"Yes. Lots of solitude and misery. Perfect for you."

"I don't love solitude and misery!" Rose said.

"You love your solitude," William said. "Which makes me miserable. Every second without you is a second wasted!"

And William pulled Rose towards him, covering her face with kisses. She giggled, pushing him away from her, running off into the trees.

"Why do you always make me chase you?!" he called after her, breaking into a jog.

"To see if you'll come after me!" she said over her shoulder.

"You know I'll always come after you, Rose," William said as she finally stopped at St. Adria's Temple. She sank against the marble pillar. He came to stand before her. She smiled, sliding her hand into his. He kissed her knuckle. She closed her eyes, seeing black.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Easy, princess," said a little man, bent over her. "This might sting a bit."

Rose winced as he pressed his hand along her stomach. She felt pressure enveloping her hand. She looked up. Snow White was clutching her hand tightly, her eyes wide. She sighed with relief when Rose looked at her.

"Thank God, she's awake!" Snow said. "Eric, keep the fire going!"

"She's cracked a few ribs, I'm afraid," said another of the little men. "But it doesn't look like they're broken."

Rose felt an icy hand moving along the skin of her stomach. She shut her eyes tightly. The touch was too familiar. It reminded her too much of Lucian, of violation, of her time in the Dark Forest so many years ago.

"Stop," she said abruptly. The little man looked at her. She pulled her hand out of Snow White's grip and pulled herself to an upright position.

"Rosie, you shouldn't—" Snow began.

"Where's Russav?" Rose asked, looking around. "Where's my horse?"

"Right there," said another of the little men, ushering to her left. Russav sat anxiously, his eyes fixed on her. He approached her, growling at the men. Rose held out her hand. He dipped his head under her palm.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," said Snow. "You're injured."

"She's right, princess," said the large man, Eric. "You need to rest. You're body's in shock."

Snow pulled a layer of fur over Rose. "Just lay back and try to relax, Rosie," Snow said. She leaned forward and kissed Rose's forehead. "You saved me."

"Small favors," Rose breathed, allowing Snow to stroke her hair until she went under.

This time, Rose was not blessed with another dream. She had come to accept their rarity. When her eyes next opened, she was looking at a black sky. A roaring fire still crackled. A petite hand—much like her own—was still stroking her hair.

"We still head for Duke Hammond's estate," Snow said. "They will be glad to know Rose and I are unharmed."

"What are the odds of finding her out here?" asked Eric. Snow shrugged.

"What are you doing in Debegri?" Rose asked, sitting up. Snow wrapped the fur tighter around Rose. Rose shook off the cover. The excessive heat discomforted her. So it was true, then. Her time in Valestrom had gotten to her head.

"We were going to Valestrom," said Snow. "To find you."

"Funny," said Rose. "I was going to Tabor City to find you."

"How did you escape that tower?" asked one of the little men. "Escape from Valestrom is supposed to be impossible."

"Really? I've heard of a few that did it before," Rose said. "No one will miss me there."

Rose winced, looking down at her stomach. Red liquid was seeping through the white material of her dress. She paused. White? Last time she checked, her dress was blue.

"Her stitch has opened," said one of the little men, coming forward with a needle in his hand. Russav growled menacingly at him, sitting down in front of Rose.

"Easy, Russav," Rose said, pushing him out of the way. "We don't have time to stitch it shut. You said we were headed to Duke Hammond's?"

"Yes," said Snow. "The Duke has been organizing a resistance."

"I didn't even think the Duke was still alive."

"He is. Eric tells me that he and William actively work against Ravenna," Snow said.

"William lives as well?"

"Yes. And it is there that we will hide until the resistance is strong enough to take on her forces," said Eric, poking at the fire.

"Princess," said the little man with the needle. "You're going to bleed dry unless we close that. Your...pet is making this fairly difficult."

Rose nudged Russav again, pushing him further away. The dwarf approached her slowly, hyperaware of Russav growling at his every move. The man worked with gentle hands, moving quickly and precisely along the gash in her stomach, before wiping away the blood with water and returning to his seat.

"She's in no fit state to travel," said Snow.

"We can't stay here," Eric said. "If we do, we're all sitting targets for Ravenna."

"Duke Hammond's estate can wait," Snow said stubbornly. "We can afford a few more days."

"No, we can't Snow," Rose said. "With the two of us out here, we're no good to anyone."

"You can't move, Rosie, your ribs are broken and that stitch opens up every time you flex a muscle!" Snow said, pulling the fur back onto Rose.

"I'll be fine. We can't afford to lose any time," Rose said, pushing the cover off of her to rid herself of the excessive heat.

"She'll take the horse," said Eric. "It'll do all the moving for her."

"Good idea," said Rose. Snow sighed.

"Stubborn board," she said, lying back to stare at the stars. Rose snorted.

Rose could not be sure how much time had passed with her simply staring at the stars. When they came to check on her, she feigned sleep, but to tell the truth, sleep was lost on her for the moment. She turned her head in alarm when she felt fingers stroking her hair again.

"You should be asleep," Rose said.

"I'm not the one with a mile-long stitch on my stomach," Snow answered. Rose sighed.

"Is Russav awake?"

"The cat? No."

"Good. He must have been up for hours."

"He was," Snow said, staring back up at the stars. "You named him after Mama's old cat."

"He reminds me of her."

"Everything reminds me of her," Snow said, sighing. Without really noticing, Rose felt her fingers intertwine with Snow's.

"Thank you," Rose said. "For coming after me."

Snow turned to her, her face barely illuminated by the moonlight and the dying embers of the fire.

"Thank you for coming after me, too."

The next morning, Rose awakened to find herself in the arms of Eric, being led on through the forest that had gotten curiously warmer.

"I thought we agreed I'd take the horse?" Rose said. Eric looked down at her.

"Snow White didn't want to wake you," Eric said simply.

"Where are we going?" Rose asked, looking up.

"Not a clue," said Eric. "Beith and the others seem to know."

Beith, Gus, Quert, Duir, Coll, Nion. The little men. As it happened, they were headed into the darkness of a cavern. Rose closed her eyes, thinking instantly of the Valestrom tunnel. But what she found was not an endless road of black, but a green, vibrant, stunningly alive forest. Rose's eyes had adjusted to the death of every forest she had seen since leaving Valestrom. So much color, and all at once, was so overwhelming to her it hurt her eyes to see it. Rose's ears almost twitched at the distant melody of a flute growing steadily louder.

"Blasted fairy music," muttered one of the dwarves. Snow White looked around in awe and wonder. Rose's hand flew to her pocket, only to find it empty. Snow must have taken her dagger. Without it, Rose felt almost as if she were naked.

"Good thing there's plenty of moss about," said another of the dwarves. Rose noticed that he had plugged some of the vegetation into his ears. She scrunched her nose in distaste.

"Where exactly are we?" Rose asked after a moment.

"They call it Sanctuary," said one beyond Rose's line of vision. "The home of the fairies."

"Clear!" yelled Duir as they reached a clearing. Eric laid Rose down gently against a rock. Rose reached down and looked at her would. The stitch had released a bit of blood from the walk, but not nearly as much as it would have if she had walked. She sighed, leaning her head back and wincing at the surge of pain that shot from her ribcage.

"The princess will have ample time to recover here," said Duir. "And it's much less risky."

Rose decided that to protest, with Snow so hell-bent on recovery, was impossible. That night, while Rose ate and Snow busily mummified her in fur, Gus pulled out his violin.

"Music to recover by," he said.

"Play as loud as you can," Quert said. "I don't want to hear any of that blasted fairy song."

"Nion, help me along," Gus said. Nion reached into his bag and pulled out his flute.

Their music was rough, nowhere near as flowing and flawless and harmonious as the fairies. But for some reason, Rose liked it much better. She smiled, leaning her head back. A brush of fur across her hand made her look up. Russav was looking down at her, laying his huge furry paw out onto the ground.

"Sweet of you, boy," she whispered, laying her head onto his paw and drifting off again. This time, she made sure her knife was in her pocket before she closed her eyes.

When Rose next awoke, Snow was stroking her face urgently.

"Wake up, Rosie," Snow whispered. "Look at this!"

Rose pulled her head up. Russav shifted, but did not wake. Everyone else was fast asleep.

"What?"

"There!" Snow pointed ahead, where two black birds fluttered around before them. "They helped me out of the North Tower!"

"Strange," said Rose. "I saw a pair just like that back at Valestrom. But they didn't help me."

'_Technically'_, Rose thought, '_they did'_. Even if their help did involve her almost being raped by Lucian. It also meant her cell was unlocked that night. And it meant that no guards would have intercepted them. Yes, perhaps they did help.

"What do they want this time?" Rose asked.

"They wanted me to wake you," said Snow. "I think there's something they want us to see."

"They're birds, Snow," Rose said flatly. "There's nothing they can say that you can understand. I think the fairy music has gotten to you."

"They're not just birds, Rosie," Snow said. "Look closer!"

Rose sighed and sat up, wincing. She narrowed her eyes at the birds. There, perched atop each one, was what looked to her like a sprite.

"What on earth are those?" Rose asked. They beckoned the girls forward, leading them off between the trees.

"Come on, Rose," Snow said. "Maybe they want to heal you!"

Snow helped Rose to her feet, pulling her along through the meadow. Where they went, Rose did not know, but she prayed they got their soon. Her stitch was opening again. She considered, for a moment, telling Snow White that this was a damn trick, but upon seeing the excitement on Snow's face, she knew better.

They stopped at last at a large gum tree surrounded by a pool of water. A row of rocks led the way across the pool, where a magnificent white hart stood tall and proud, chewing at the grass. It perked up at the sight of them. Rose paused, leaning against the boulder just beside the water while Snow crossed the row of rocks to the gum tree. The hart looked almost like it was smiling at Snow. It huffed with joy and rose to its full height as she approached it. It ducked its head under her hand. Snow laughed, running her hands along the smooth fur.

"The white hart bows before the princess, father," said a voice. Rose turned her head. Eric and the little men had arrived. "He's blessing her!"

"What are you talking about?" asks Eric.

"You have eyes, huntsman," says Beith. "But you do not see. You, who have been with Snow White the longest. That girl is life itself. She will heal the land."

Rose smiled to herself. It had to be Snow White. The girl was happy, untainted, unprejudiced. Her forgiveness, her eagerness to see the good in everyone, her innocence was all in her favor. This same forgiveness, eagerness and innocence was no longer present in Rose's heart. Rose turned back to watch Snow White as the hart almost playfully nudged her. She giggled. Rose sighed quietly, shifting her weight. She paused, looking up at the sudden silence. The hart was crossing the rocks, walking carefully across the pool. Rose let out a deep breath, not even realizing that she had held it back, until the hart came to a stop before her. It rubbed its nose against her head, almost as though it were kissing her.

"Two halves of a whole," said Beith. "With Snow White, we found our youthful energy, but with the both of them together, we are restored again. Can you feel it? Were all of your ailments not gone as soon as we pulled Princess Rose from the water? Gold or no gold, where they lead, I will follow."

Beith stepped forward, towards Rose. He leaned in close, so no one could hear them.

"This hart loves you, Rose," he whispered into her ear. "You have given up on yourself, but your heart has not given up on you. Your purity has not yet abandoned you."

And perhaps it was this promise that brought tears to Rose's eyes. This reassurance that she was still promising of something despite all the impairment she had endured. The hart greeted her like a friend, and in that instant, all of the raging animosity in Rose's heart seemed to vanish, as if the hart had washed it away with his kiss. For a split second, Rose thought she saw the hart smile at her, a twist of its lips upwards that looked alien, but almost sweet at the same time. She smiled back, feeling just for a moment like she had found home again.

And all her tranquil thought was cut off with an arrow to the hart.

"Ambush!" yelled Duir. Rose pulled herself to her feet as Russav raced past her, launching himself at the bowman. He was not alone.

"Russav, no!" Rose yelled, pulling herself to her feet and limping along behind the boulder, pulling her knife out of her pocket.

She held her breath to stifle the pain before she stood ramrod straight. The stitched tugged at her stretched skin, screaming in protest. She shut her eyes tightly, grinding her teeth together against it. An armored figure ran past the boulder. Rose wrapped her hand over his mouth and slid the knife along his neck. He fell to the floor. Rose looked down at the blood dripping from her hand. She shut her eyes, wondering what the hart would think of her now. Would it still have kissed her? The figure rolled over, clutching at his neck. His eyes fell on her. She did not move. She dared not even breathe. Finally the man stopped moving. His eyes were frozen on her now. She leaned forward and closed his eyes, sinking to the ground and exhaling jaggedly. Warm liquid tricked down her stomach. The exertion opened her wounds again. But it was more than exertion that was overtaking her. This forest was warm, but Rose suddenly felt colder than ever. She looked down at her bloody hand. She could see that behind the blood, her fingers were a pale, distinct blue. Why did she not feel this before?

Of course she wouldn't have. That's the way hypothermia works. She leaned back onto the grass, closing her eyes. She heard a whimper beside her.

"Russav," she whispered. "Go."

She felt a brush of fur on her arm. He had lain down beside her. She wheezed as the blood flowed smoothly out from the opened stitches. The blue on her fingers was more pronounced now that her skin was paling from blood loss. She began to see black spots in her vision as her head suddenly lightened. She closed her eyes to ward off the headache, succumbing to the blackness at last.

"Rosie!" a voice called out in the curious quiet. "Rosie, no!"

A hand over her heart. "Her stitch has opened. She's losing blood fast!"

"What stitch?" asks a new voice. She can't bring herself to recognize this one. Not as deep and intimidating as Eric's. Too deep for any of the dwarves.

A tear of fabric at her waist. Pressure on her stitch. A layer of fur over her body. A hand in hers.

"Rosie?" Snow's voice calls quietly. Her eyes flutter open.

Snow White, eyes tearstained and face blanched. Eric, propping her up. Coll, pressing a piece of cloth over her stitch and pushing it hard enough to stem the flow. And another face. Worried. Frightened. Anxious. She had to blink a few times to see it clearly. It looked distantly familiar. But could it be?

"It's me, Rosie," the face said in that voice she could not recognize. "It's William."

Rose stared into his face a moment longer, then leaned back and closed her eyes, falling under again.

When she next awoke, she was deep underneath at least four layers of fur. A fire roared to her left. She looked around. They were back in the snowy forests. The horse was gone, probably gone since the attack in the Sanctuary meadow. The bags that it had carried now rested by Eric's sleeping bag. Snow White was asleep beside her. Rose looked down at herself, pulling her dress up to her chest and analyzing her stitch. Duir must have closed it again. It looked terrifying, but she decided it was much, much easier a sight than it was before. Her fingers weren't blue anymore, either. No, now they were all the same sheet-pale. She sighed, leaning her head back and rolling over. She pulled herself out of the furs, sitting up and turning her head. The sun had just barely risen, but it was as bright as every day was in mid-winter. She leaned on a rock for support, hauling her weight until she stood upright. The strain of the stretch on her stomach caused a wave of discomfort to resound from her ribs, and a new sting to her cut. She winced. She heard a whimper beside her and smiled.

"It's okay, Russav," she assured him, scratching behind his ear. "It's fine."

Rose slid her weight—with Russav's help—up onto the rock so that she was sitting onto it. She looked around at the trees surrounding them. She narrowed her eyes at a particularly long, thick branch on a nearby tree.

"See that, Russav?" she whispered, pointing at the tree. "That's where we need to get. Come on."

Rose balanced her weight on Russav's back as she climbed down from the rock. She leaned on his shoulder as she limped along to the tree. She tilted her head, thinking hard.

"Russav," she said. "Jump onto that branch."

Russav looked at her.

"The branch?" she said, wincing as she reached up to tap the branch with her finger. "Come on. Jump. Break it off."

Russav blinked at her. She groaned, pulling a coin from her pocket. She tossed it into the air. It landed comfortably on the branch, where it glimmered curiously in the morning light.

"Go get it, boy," Rose said, stepping back a few feet. Russav's eyes narrowed at the coin, and he hopped up onto the branch, lifting the gold with his tongue. The whole branch cracked, and Russav came tumbling to the ground with it. Rose cringed at the noise, immediately turning her head to see who had awoken at the sound, but everyone was still asleep. Rose sighed with relief.

"Good boy," she said. "Now help me pull this back to the fire."

Russav stared at her. She rolled her eyes, flinching as she bent down to lift one end of the branch. Russav watched her for a moment, then lifted the other end of the branch between his teeth and pulled it back to the camp. Rose smiled.

"There we go."

Russav stopped beside the fire. Rose slid back onto the rock, pulling one end of the thick branch onto her lap and steadying her knife. For the next hour, she hacked away at the branch, smoothing away the rough bark and straightening the edges into a staff. The sunlight peeked through the bare trees as the fire came to die out. Russav chewed on a large chunk of lamb, watching Rose. Eric was the first to awaken.

"How long have you been awake?" asked Eric. Rose shrugged.

"An hour," she guessed. "Maybe more." Eric poked at the fire. It came to life again.

"You shouldn't be uncovered like this," he said.

"The cold is gone from my body, Huntsman," Rose said. "I'll be fine."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Eric watching the fire, and Rose smoothing away bumps on the handle of her staff.

"I told Snow you were dead," Eric finally said. Rose looked at him, a brow raised. "When I asked her where to find you, and she told me you were in Valestrom, I told her you were surely dead."

"Did you?"

"I knew full grown men four times your size that died in the first year there. No one had any reason to suspect that a child might have survived longer than a few weeks."

Rose shrugged, looking back down at her staff.

"How did you do it?" Eric asked. Rose sighed.

"Survival instinct, I suppose," Rose guessed. "I didn't know what was coming, but I knew I wasn't meant to die in there. You ever have that feeling? When you walk into a place and you know that this is where you'll die?"

"I can't say that I have," Eric said. "I don't think too much on my death."

"I do," Rose said. "I think about it every day. And in Valestrom...death is the only thing people can really think about. You get to know people just by looking at them. That's how I know you lie to me right now."

Eric looked at her.

"You think about dying every day, Eric," Rose said. "One familiar with the stench of death is easily recognizable by another."

Eric snorted. "You are wise beyond your years, Rose."

"No, no. I don't think that's true."

"I do. You and your sister will make a fine pair upon the throne," he said. Rose looked back down at her staff.

"Do you really think that will happen?"

"It must," Eric said. "The two of you are invincible."

Rose smiled at him, a real smile, the first one to grace her features in what felt like years, before a snort was heard beside them and Coll sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Bloody early," he mumbled, shaking Beith awake. Eric continued poking at the fire absently. Rose returned to her whittling. William's eyes opened slowly. He looked around before spotting Rose seated atop the nearby rock.

"You shouldn't be out here uncovered," William said, rising to his feet.

"That's what Eric said," Rose rolled her eyes. "It's fine."

William walked over to the rock, sinking into the space beside her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better than earlier," Rose said.

"Snow told me what happened," he said.

"What?"

"She said you saved her," William said simply. "It was brave of you."

"That's what I keep hearing," Rose said, looking back down at her staff, trying not to betray the fact that her heart was pounding.

"You shouldn't be moving around," William said. "You'll open the stitches."

"Well, without my horse I'm no good to anybody, now am I?" Rose asked. "We can just worry about reaching your house. There's someone waiting for me back at Tabor Castle that I need to see." A pause. "William, how did you find us?"

"Me? I've been following you for days. Well, Snow, anyways. I was with a group of Ravenna's soldiers. Her brother and a few cronies."

"Her brother?" Rose repeated, her voice higher than she intended. "He was there?"

"Yes."

"Did you—did you fight him?"

"We tried. But he's been touched by all sorts of black magic."

"You mean to say he escaped?"

"Yes. Eric over there tried to fight him, but he just vanished. And then we found you behind that boulder."

Rose nodded understandingly. "I see," she said, looking back down at her staff.

"I didn't know, Rose," William said quickly. Rose looked at him.

"What?"

"I didn't know either of you were still alive. If I had known, I'd have gone straight to Tabor Castle sooner."

"You're here now, William," Rose said quietly. "In any case, riding to Tabor Castle would have been useless. By the time you got there, Snow would already have reached Debegri."

"Debegri?" William repeats, his brow furrowed. "What's in Debegri?"

"That's where we found each other," Rose said. "Just outside the city bounds."

William blinked at her. "I thought you two were imprisoned together?"

"We—" Rose stopped, looking back into the fire.

Eric was gently tapping Snow White's arm. Her eyes fluttered open, her hand flexing forward into Rose's fur. Snow White's eyes widened in panic when her hands met with nothing. She sat bolt upright and looked around. When she spotted Rose seated on the rock, she heaved a sigh of relief.

"There you are!" Snow said, walking over and wrapping her arms around Rose's form. "You shouldn't be moving too much, Rosie. It's not good for the stitches."

"That's what I told her," William said, smiling at Snow. There was a glimmer in his eyes as he looked at Snow White, a small twinkle as she reprimanded Rose for her slight movement, that broke Rose's heart in two all over again.

Really. All those years that had passed should have made her numb to this sort of feeling. She had known, after all, that William's heart was always Snow's to keep. He loved her from the start, Rose was just the third wheel that was along for the ride. Rose was not blind to the way that Snow smiled back at William. Oh, what sweet, innocent love they shared. They might have felt the worst of Ravenna's rule, but they were not consumed by it. They were still kind, still sweet, still playful as they always were together. Rose sighed, slipping her knife back into her pocket and rising to her feet. The staff was thick and sturdy, carrying her weight effectively. Snow turned her smile on Rose, throwing a layer of fur over her shoulders.

"Come, Rosie," Snow said. "Let's get you something to eat."

Rose was not particularly hungry now that the pain in her chest far outweighed the pain in her side or her ribs, but she obediently swallowed every bite of food Snow pushed into her hands. After they all washed and did an inventory of their supplies, they set off through the rocky terrain.

Rose was hyperaware, and extremely annoyed, at having Snow on one side, Eric on another, and William on the third, watching her carefully as she walked along on her staff, holding their hands out at the slightest sudden movement, ready to catch her if she lost her strength. She bit her lip on every possible word she could say, pretending that she could not see them. Soon, they began to chat amongst themselves. Snow and William lagged behind everyone else, conversing in quiet tones.

Rose pointedly ignored this, keeping her eyes trained on the path before her. Every now and again, a giggle would reach her ears, or a merry laugh. She shut her eyes tightly, focusing solely on not losing her balance. She tried to convince herself that the whispers of lovers' afar did not matter to her, but in truth, there was hardly much else for her to think of. She pressed her fingers to her lips, thinking of the stolen kiss that December night.

"He was never mine to lose," she whispered so quietly, she herself did not hear it. "He was never mine."

And with this to set her thoughts straight, she walked on.

They stopped at last in a small clearing of stones and snow, where Quert stilled and stated plainly that there was where he would lie that night or he would pass out of starvation. His example was well-followed. That night, Eric drank in excess, including William as Beith sang by the fire and Snow forced fruit after meat after drink into Rose's hand. Rose tossed all of the food aside, claiming a loss of appetite.

"We need to talk, Snow," Rose said at last, "And for the last time, I have no desire to eat!"

"Alright, then. I'm listening," Snow said. Rose sighed as everyone chattered on, looking around to make sure none of them were listening.

"When we get to Tabor Castle," Rose began quietly. "And we find Ravenna...William tells me that the brother is alive."

"Yes," Snow says. "He was there in the meadow, but Eric couldn't get to him before...well, I'm not exactly sure what it was Ravenna touched him with that made him disappear like that."

"Never mind that. When we get there, if you have a chance to take him...leave it."

"What? Leave it? What do you mean?"

"I mean leave him to me. Ravenna is yours. But he must be mine."

"Rose, what is the matter with you? We'll find a way to end Ravenna's reign without killing either of them," Snow said. Rose raised a brow skeptically.

"Do you seriously think that that's the way it'll end?" she asked. Snow nodded.

"Yes, I do. Humanity, Rose," Snow said. Rose shook her head in disbelief.

"That's ridiculous, Snow. It's either them or us. Either way, someone's going to die."

"Don't think like that, Rosie."

"You'll save me the brother?"

"I'll do no such thing," Snow White said. "So you can wrack him out and make him beg for death? Rosie, where's your mercy?"

"He has earned none," Rose snapped. "He will receive none."

"I won't give him to you, then," Snow said. "He's not worth your innocence."

"What bloody innocence?" asked Rose. "I can't even remember what it's like to see the world the way I did those years ago."

"I can," said Snow. "And I know that you can, too. You cannot be left alone with Finn. This is for your sake, not his."

"Snow—"

"No, Rosie," Snow said flatly.

Rose sighed, looking back at the fire. No one had noticed their exchange. They allowed the tension between them to melt away and merged into the conversation going on quickly and smoothly.

That night, Rose slept fitfully. Her only peace came when she saw William in her dream, leading her by the hand through the garden in winter, to St. Adria's temple. But Rose did not see from her own eyes. She was disembodied, it seemed, watching from by the apple tree.

"I'm glad you came to see me," William said. She smiled to herself as he stroked her hair.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked him.

"Do you remember that night we spent here?" he asked, ushering to the temple. "When we were children?"

"I think about it all the time," she said to him. Rose smiled wider. If ever there could have been a perfect moment, then that would have been it.

"I love you, Snow," William breathed, holding her closer, resting her head over his heart. Rose paused, her brow furrowing. The girl wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

Rose sank to the ground, the sky around her darkening. But William and Snow still held each other tightly, smiling, giggling, lost in their content. Without William, Rose's world had all but stopped. But without Rose, William's world would just keep on spinning.

Rose's eyes opened quickly. She looked around her. The morning light was back, making sleep impossible for her now. She rolled over, facing Snow, only to find the space beside her empty. She looked up.

"Snow?" she whispered, sitting up. No answer. She sighed, picking up her staff and hauling herself to her feet, careful not to wake Russav. She inched past the sleeping figures slowly, making her way through the trees. "Snow, where are you?"

"Rose?" a voice called. Rose turned around. William. "What are you doing? Why are you always making me chase you?"

Rose could not bring herself to answer. Possibly because the question hurt too much for her to answer now that she knew he didn't mean it the way she wished he would. She sighed.

"Have you seen Snow?" she asked, looking around the immediate area. It suddenly occurred to her that she had indeed gone quite far.

"Yes," William said. "She just came back to camp. She panicked and woke us all up when she found that you weren't there."

"Really? Oh, she's going to raise hell," Rose said, stepping forward over a large root.

"Yes, she is. You make her sick with worry, do you know that? You sicken us all with worry."

"Do I? Well, I certainly don't mean to. I'd rather everyone forget about me," Rose said, stepping over another fat root.

"How could anyone forget you?" William asked, following her along quietly. "You're the only one, it seems, that no one can forget."

"Really? I never got that impression," Rose said.

"Well, I never forgot you," William said, coming to stand in front of her, blocking her path. "I thought of you every day, even when I thought you were gone."

Rose paused, turning to look at him. "What?"

"My thoughts were fast-paced," William said again. "And sometimes, I could barely hold myself together, thinking of everything that we lost those years ago. But then I'd think of you—only you—and everything was alright."

Rose blinked at him. He gave her a small smile, holding out his hand. In his grip was a large, vibrantly red rose.

"It's lovely," Rose said.

"You're lovely," William countered. "I'm told the most beautiful roses grow despite the most horrible circumstances. It seems to suit you."

Rose smiled at him, reaching forward and taking the rose into her hand. She felt a sting in her index finger and winced.

"What's wrong?" asked William.

"A thorn, I suppose," Rose said, pulling the stem away from her hand.

The thorn had stuck into her finger. She pulled it out briskly, tossing it over her shoulder. Her eyes caught a strange movement on her hand, and she looked at her arm. She gasped. A dark line was forming along her index finger, from the puncture of the thorn, along her arm, before splitting into several separate lines that raveled along her arm in a spidery pattern. Rose had to blink several times before she could recognize the patterns. The dark substance was flooding her veins. Her veins were the spidery pattern, dark against her pale skin. She looked back at the rose, watching it turn black and die as its poison worked its way through her body, leaving a sudden chill in the wake of every inch of her it touched. William looked at her, watched her lose her balance and fall over. She felt a searing pain from her side as blood oozed from her stitch onto the snow, but the blood was not red. Her eyes widened at the black, thick liquid that flowed from her wound as her head became ten pounds lighter and she lay back at last. William was not looking over her now. She felt her heart slow down.

"Oh, Rosie," said Ravenna, bending over to face her plainly. "I never wanted this for you. Never this. This—Valestrom, all of it—was for her, for Snow White. She never understood. She still doesn't. She'll never understand."

Rose glared up at her.

"You and I, Rose, it's not too late for us. We can be something greater than this. You can be something better than what you are now. Don't waste your time helping Snow White back to her glory. Don't waste your energy loving a man who will never give you back a single moment. You deserve to be Queen, not her. You deserve William's love, not her. What does it matter that she's older? You're the wiser. You have suffered. You have endured. What has she suffered? What has she endured? She has lived in my protection in her own home. You have lived as a prisoner in the mountains. You have struggled, agonized, hardened. You deserve the throne! You deserve the admiration! I knew you were special, Rosie. I knew you were like me. Say the word. Between the two of us, you and I might rule the world. Beauty and wisdom are powerful tools. Together, we are invincible."

Rose looked up at Ravenna, feeling her chest begin to grow cold. The poison was nearing her heart now.

"Snow will defeat you," Rose said. "With or without me. And I'll save you a seat in hell."

Ravenna sighed, stroking Rose's hair. "I really wish this could have gone differently, Rosie. We would have made quite a pair."

And with a puff of smoke, she was gone, and Rose's world went black.

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

It stayed black, Rose noticed. She did not gain any feeling again. She did not feel a touch or a change in temperature around her. It was a while before she realized that she was stuck in this world of black.

A few times, she thought she heard voices. They were muffled, and they had a strange echo to them. It irritated Rose to be able to be so close to hearing them, but so far as well.

Finally, she felt her body begin to function again. She could move around in the sea of inky black, walk and jump and dance. Her wounds were gone. She could smile without worry.

Next, the inky black became something more tangible, something delightful. Rose couldn't help but smile. She was in the garden, next to St. Adria's temple. It was midday. December.

"Oh, Rosie," called a voice at last. Rose started. The voice was clear as mountain air, a break from the muffled whispers she had been hearing. "Beith, what has been done to her?"

"That rose was poisoned," answered Beith's voice. "The same as your apple."

"What can be done?" asked the voice again.

"Nothing," said Beith. "She is a victim of her own mind. The damage is done."

"Is it truly too late?"

"I'm afraid so," was the answer. "She is dead."

Rose heard a choked sob, followed by silence.

She was left to wander her garden in silence for a while. She remembered everything. Every turn, every step, every bush and every tree there was. She would not hesitate, only bounce along happily, eating berries and following butterflies and smiling at everything that passed her by, knowing within her that for once, everything was right. And then she decided that it would not truly be so bad, death. It would actually be quite nice to be dead if this was where she'd get to stay. Why not? What was her other option? To return to the living world, where there was only sorrow and pain to comfort her? Who would go back when they could stay there in the garden and be happy and tranquil forever? And yet she felt something tugging at the corner of her heart, something that refused to be forgotten.

"Rosie," said a voice. She paused. William. "I—I had a dream a while ago. About—about you and I. We were...walking through an orange grove. In the garden back at the palace. And you were...hiding from me, like you always used to. I don't know why you always hid from me," a slight laugh. A sniffle. "You were just so shy. But in that dream, you didn't hide the same way that you used to. You smiled at me. I couldn't really see your face properly, like you were distorted. But I knew it was you. And you just led me to the temple. Rosie," she heard a sigh. "I did not think you'd become so beautiful. Or so miserable."

Rose listened to the voice, sitting herself down on the bench by a hydrangea bush.

"And when we were children, and you always left me alone with Snow and she would take me running through the castle, and you'd just watch us. I never got you, Rosie. You were always too much to keep up with. You hid away in a corner with a book or a knife you had stolen...no one understood you. Not even me. But—I tried, Rosie, I swear I tried. I still do. I found the ring I gave you. I can't believe you still wear that thing. I've just—I can't believe how stupid I've been, not telling you. And sometimes I think that maybe I gave you the wrong idea, letting you wonder off by yourself all the time while I ran off with Snow on some stupid adventure," another, deeper sigh. Another sniffle. A deep breath.

Rose leaned forward, her brow furrowed. A blue butterfly fluttered past her. She waved it off.

"Nothing ever made my heart pound the way you did, Rose," said William. "I never loved anything before like that. Or since," a pause, a sniffle. "And I just—I'm so sorry I never told you. I should have told you. I love you, Rose. I'll avenge you. I swear I will," a sob. "You might not wear the crown, but you'll always be my queen."

Rose stood up, waving away the persistent butterfly. She looked around the garden, lifting the hem of her sparkling gown and running back into the castle.

"Get me out of here," she whispered. "Get me out of here, get me out of here!"

Rose stopped, looking up and down the hallway. It was deserted. She turned, running to the first place she could think of, the place it all began. The Regency Room. Where she was born, where she first met William, where her mother died of fever, where her father was murdered. She pushed open the door, momentarily blinded by the bright white light coming from inside.

Rose shut her eyes tightly, taking a step into the room. Everything went black.

The ground was moist and murky, sinking into the occasional puddle. The trees were dead, their dark branches twisting at odd angles. The ground was covered from view by a layer of mist so thick one could cut through it. Rose narrowed her eyes, looking around suspiciously. She recognized this place, though dimly, as if in a far off, long lost memory tucked in the corner of her mind. A little girl came into view. She was such a pretty girl, with long, black hair that shined even without the light, and eyes the color of the pale gray sky. She trembled, stepping forward, looking around the forest.

"Is anyone out there?" she called timidly. "Can anyone hear me?"

Rose paused, her brow furrowing. It was her. This was the Dark Forest. This was her missing day.

"No," she said abruptly. "No, get me out of here. No, I don't want to see this!" she called aloud, looking around her. The little girl only kept walking, looking around her.

"Can anyone hear me?" Young Rose called again.

"I can hear you," answered a voice. Older Rose froze, feeling a stiffness in her spine and a chill in her blood that had nothing to do with the cold at the familiar sound of that voice. She never thought she'd hear it again. Younger Rose turned at the sound, facing the man.

"Can you help me?" she asked, tears in her eyes. The man knelt down before her.

"Of course I'd help such a pretty little girl," the man said, stroking her hair.

"Get out of here," Older Rose yelled at the little girl. "Get away, you don't know what he's done!"

"Are you lost, child?" asked the man. Rose nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. The man wiped it away and smiled at her. "Don't be afraid. You'll be alright."

"Can you help me find my father?" she asked. He smiled wider.

"You don't need one," the man said, cupping her face. "I've never seen such a pretty little girl before."

The man took her tiny wrist in his hand, pulling her closer. Older Rose covered her ears, trying to block out the memory.

"Get away—get away—get away—GET AWAY FROM ME!" Older Rose shrieked as Younger Rose was pushed against a tree. The man's cloak covered Younger Rose from view, but Older Rose was left with the sounds of her five-year old self screaming for help.

Older Rose leaned back against a rock, tears pouring from her eyes, pressing her palms to her ears to stifle the sounds. What she had pushed to the back of her mind so carefully was coming back with the force of an axe. Rose collapsed onto the ground, shutting her eyes tightly.

Her eyes opened. She was in a room. The room was dimly lit. She felt oddly comfortable. She sat up and looked around. A familiar sting in her stomach made her hand fly to her stitches. Her ribs were still cracked. She looked down at herself. She could not remember wearing this white gown. She pulled herself off of the bed, leaning her weight on the stone for support, while she looked around the room for her staff. Her things were in a corner. She sighed, limping across the room to her shoes. She pushed open the thick oak doors and walked out into the halls. Her staff was nowhere to be found. She leaned against the wall as she pushed herself along. Where she was going, she did not know, but her brain could only register one emotion: anger. She tried to think of something else—of home, of St. Adria's temple, of William—but no matter how hard she tried, anger came bubbling back into her body, passing through her veins like the poison of the rose, spreading blackness and acrimony as it went. As she progressed along the hallways, she could hear a voice speaking. The further along she got, the more pronounced the noise became. Soon, it formed into tangible words.

"And I'd rather die today," said the voice of Snow White. "Then live another day of this death. Who of you will burn this witch to the ground? Who of you will ride with me? Who will be my brother? My sister? Who will fight in the name of our fallen princess?"

The roar of the crowd before her was impossible to drown out. Rose leaned against the doorframe, half obscured from view by the stone wall that carried her weight, watching the people rally behind the princess they loved so well. Rose Red had no pride for Snow White right then, no passion for the end of Ravenna, no love for Snow or William or anyone else—not even herself. With the details of the memory renewed in her mind, all she could find in her heart was anger. Hatred. Bitterness that boiled her blood and made her skin excessively warm and caused the blood to leave her face.

The first face to see Rose was an unfamiliar one. Rose supposed that she might have recognized it if she tried hard enough, but she could not bring herself to even give it a shot. That face nudged another face, which nudged another face, which continued the process until finally, a familiar face turned. She had not seen Duke Hammond in years. His hair was graying. He looked up at her with wide, watering eyes before he reached forward and tapped another shoulder. Eric. He paused when his eyes fell on her, taking her in briefly before tapping another person. William. He looked at her with eyes that could have clouded over in a moment, and Rose could barely see the disbelief in his eyes. All she could see right then was red, and all she could feel was the acid in her throat. The last person to turn was Snow, and when she did, Rose knew she would have her heart's desire.

Rose did not look anywhere near as energized as she felt right then. In reality, she looked ill. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, and her skin was truly as pale as snow. The bags under her eyes betrayed an exhaustion that shouldn't have ever been there, on the face of that angelic princess. She watched with weary eyes as Snow approached her slowly, tears streaming down her face. William and Eric were close behind. Duke Hammond hurried after them.

"Rosie—" Snow began.

"We need to talk," Rose said abruptly, pushing her weight off of the wall and leading the way along.

She led then back to her room and took a seat upon her deathbed as Duke Hammond closed the door behind them.

"How did you awaken?" William asked.

"Persistence," Rose said. "There is something I have yet to do. Which is why we need to talk."

"I'm listening, Rosie," Snow said, sitting beside her and taking her hand.

"You will lead this march upon our home," Rose began. "And when it is done, I ask only that you leave me the brother."

"Rosie," Snow said, raising her hand. "We've talked about this."

"Come off it, Snow," Rose said. "You know _someone_ must die."

Snow sighed. "I know that now. But I can't let you have him. If he survives, he will be executed. I've told you before, he's not worth your innocence."

"The state of my innocence isn't your concern, Snow," Rose said.

"Yes, it is," Snow said back. "Family value might not weight in very heavily on your priority scale, but you're all I have left."

"Family value?" Rose repeated, her brow furrowing. She rose to her feet and backed against the wall. "You think me selfish?"

"I think you're losing sight of what really matters here," Snow said. "Justice, not revenge."

"You owe me, Snow," Rose said through her teeth. "You forget that it was I who took your place in hell on earth! You wouldn't have lasted a minute in Valestrom with your heart of gold and your morals and your forgiveness. Ravenna was right—you're such a child," Rose turned her head.

"Ravenna?" Snow repeated, her voice betraying her alarm as she stood up.

"You've been hearing Ravenna's whispers?" asked Duke Hammond.

"You can't listen to her, Rosie," Snow said. "She'll poison you against us."

"Ravenna's whispers have nothing to do with this," Rose said. "My business with Finn is my own."

"I can't, Rosie," Snow said. "I won't. You'll lose yourself. You'll end up just like her."

"I am nothing like her!"

"You are angry, Rose, and your anger is consuming you!" Snow said.

"Yes, I'm bloody angry!" Rose yelled. "It took you all of thirteen years to figure that out?!"

"Ravenna is manipulating you, Rosie—" Snow said.

"Ravenna as nothing to do with this!" Rose seethed. She bit her lip, forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath. "That day, lost in the Dark Forest—I've been through more evil in there than I've ever felt at the hands of Ravenna. Walking through the forest, lost, afraid, confused...the lines of clear thought become blurred, Snow," Rose sighed, leaning back against the wall. "And then this man appears, says he'll help me find my way back out. I was five years old, of course I trusted him. And he—"  
Rose paused, taking another calming breath to stop the shaking in her hands.

"I came back home, trying to forget, trying to imagine of the day I'd wake up and it wasn't the first thing I'd think about. Going to bed every night was the hardest part. So I kept on promising myself that it would never happen again. And I fell to pieces, killing things—flowers, birds, deer—trying to spread some of the anger away from myself so I could think straight. Eventually, Mama and Papa stopped trying to understand. Everyone stopped trying to understand. But I didn't care. I was too busy thinking of that promise I'd made myself. Too busy trying to stay in one piece to mind what everyone else thought. And I almost got better. I almost moved on. Until the day I saw that man again...walking the halls of our home the night we lost everything."

Rose paused, looking to the window. Snow's hands were clapped over her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. Eric had his eyes glued to the floor, disturbed by her words. Duke Hammond stood with his hand on the doorknob, ready to run at any second. William had not peeled his eyes off of Rose. He looked pained.

"You see, Snow," Rose said. "You cannot hope to understand how to defeat someone like Ravenna until you have fully understood the anger that drives her. The anger that drives me. You're the perfect princess, the princess Tabor deserves, but you don't know what it's like to carry anger so poisonous it's etched into your _bones_ and it keeps you awake at night. Ravenna is not my quarrel—I don't care what she's taken from us. What happened that night was not our fault. It was our father's."

Snow looked up at Rose, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.

"Rosie, don't say that—"

"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth. It took one pretty woman a single day to wipe Mama from his heart, one pretty woman a single day to doom us all. For God's sake, his lust brought this kingdom to its knees!"

"Your anger is controlling you!" Snow said.

"My anger has kept me alive, Snow!" Rose snapped. "And its usefulness will soon run its course. I won't have any peace until I see Finn again. He must be left to me."

Snow paused, a choked sob escaping her. "Oh, Rosie," she said quietly. "Look what the world has turned you into..."

Rose watched as Snow wiped a tear. "You cannot deny me this, Snow."

"I must. I _must_, Rosie," Snow said. "What Finn has done to you is unforgivable, but you cannot hope to reclaim what he has taken from you."

"Of course not," Rose said, scoffing. "You think me an idiot? I know he doesn't carry my virginity in his pocket!"

"I mean your peace of mind, Rosie. You won't find it from seeing him again."

"Then where, might I ask, do you think I will find it?"

"In forgiveness," Snow said. Rose stared at her.

"You toy with me, Snow," she said. Snow shook her head.

"I swear, I do not. You are a better human than he can ever hope to be. I won't allow you to become the same as him."

"I'll forgive him when he's bleeding in front of me," Rose said. "You said it yourself. Justice."

"Yes, I said justice. What you ask for is revenge."

"Do you not wish to avenge what you have lost, Snow?" Rose asked.

"I do," Snow said. "I do. I _want_ to avenge Papa. But revenge and justice are not the same."

"What of Mama? Do you never think of avenging her?"

Snow paused. "Fever claimed Mama, Rose. There is nothing to avenge."

Rose looked back to the window, something new mixing with the anger in her stomach. Guilt. Snow blinked at her, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"Rosie..." she began. "What...what did you do?"

Rose sighed. "She was already dying, Snow."

Snow inhaled sharply, stepping back. Rose looked at her.

"That night—the door was locked. You were alone with her..." Snow began taking deep, sharp breaths. Rose nodded.

"She looked up at me," Rose began. "And blood leaked from her mouth because her body was eating away at itself, and she _begged_ me to end it. So I did. I put feradonna bulb powder into her wine, and I told her all the pain would go away if she drank it."

"You—you killed our mother," Snow said.

"She was dying!" Rose said. "I put her out of her misery! Could you have done something like that? Could you have sacrificed the time you wished you could have spent with her if it just meant putting an end to her suffering? I didn't kill her, I saved her! I have sacrificed, Snow! Does this not make you want to avenge Mama? Do you not want to do me any harm?"

"I won't!" Snow said. "You've thrown away your purity like an old handkerchief. Finn may have taken your physical chastity, but he did not make you into this monster! You did that to yourself!" a pause as Snow White gripped the sides of her head, tears pouring down her face without a break and looking as though she had gone mad. "But there's still..." Snow began again, her voice much quieter. "...something there inside of you, Rosie. There's still hope. The hart blessed you. What you did for Mama," a fresh sob at the realization. "It's awful to think of. But you did it out of love. You took my place in Valestrom out of love. You fell into the Debegri River out of love. Everything you have become is because there are people in this world that you love more than you love yourself. And therein lays your purity. If I let you have your way with Finn, then that purity will be lost. For your own sake—and not his—Finn cannot meet his end at your hands."

Rose stared at Snow, watching her weep to herself. Her own eyes were dry and empty as always.

"Then there is nothing left for me here," Rose said, pushing her weight off of the wall and pulling herself to the door. Duke Hammond reached for her hand. She shook it off, closing the door behind her.

She sat on the bench in Duke Hammond's garden, watching the snow slowly melt away when she felt a presence behind her.

"I have so much to apologize for," said William, sinking into the space next to her. She closed her eyes, leaning back and shaking her head.

"No, you don't," she said flatly.

"Why did you not tell me what happened in the forest?"

"Would you have told anyone something like that?" Rose asked. "My shame outweighed anything else I could have felt about it."

"I suppose we can agree on that," he said. Rose sighed.

"Back on that deathbed," she said. "I was in the garden."

"The garden?"

"The one back home. And it was so sunny outside and there was color everywhere. It was probably what heaven was supposed to look like, I suppose, with the butterflies and bunnies and flowers and all that."

"It sounds perfect."

"It almost was." Rose sighed, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Snow doesn't want you coming along tomorrow," William said. "I agree with her. You're in no fit state to be fighting anyone."

"Can't say I disagree," Rose said, shrugging. She pulled herself to her feet. "You should get some rest. You'll be up early tomorrow."

"Right," William bounced out of his seat, smiling at her. There was a longing in his smile, a distant sadness that reminded Rose of her own turbulent emotions. And then he turned and was gone, and she was left to wander the gardens in peace.

The next morning, Snow was gone. Half of Duke Hammond's castle was gone. Rose was hardly surprised. But the thought that occurred to her next shocked even her. She tried to shake it off, but it had stuck to her mind, spreading like an infection that she couldn't shake off. What caused her a moment's worry was that she did not really want to shake it off. She wanted to follow this plan, to go along with it no matter how reckless and how dangerous and how deliberately insubordinate it was and just see where it took her. So she did. Rose hurried along as fast as her stitches and ribs would let her go, and hopped into the back of the last caravan of weapons just as it reached the gates. No one noticed her slip beneath the covers.

The ride lasted hours at their top speed, and nearly a day at their slowest. Rose could credit this to the fact that they all travelled on horseback. Either way, when they reached Tabor Castle, and the first of a thousand arrows flew into the air, and the unmistakable cries of battle began, Rose was not entirely sure if she was ready, but she did know that there was no turning back anymore. She lifted the cover and pulled herself out, wincing at the strain on her stitches.

Once, when Rose back still in Valestrom, a few prisoners from the lower floor had broken their cell locks at around early evening and started a riot in an attempt to escape. The riot had been stamped out in hours, and the rioters punished, but Rose could still remember the distinct metallic smell of blood as it floated up to her window, could still remember the agonized screams of desperate, dying men. The riot in Valestrom was not halfway as horrible as what she saw in the entrance courtyard of her home. Rose looked around her, leaning against a pillar, staying well out of sight. She looked up at the spires that seemed to touch the sky, her mind seeming to focus on the tallest one. Finn would be there. She clutched at the knife in her pocket with cold, shaky fingers as she slid along from one pillar to the other, hurrying up the stairs. The stairs were perhaps the worst part. Her ribs screamed in protest, her stitches suddenly feeling moist with blood as she flexed and ran upwards. She did not stop. How could she, when she was so close? The pain she felt in her wounds were of no importance compared to the task she had set for herself.

When Rose opened the doors to her father's old study, the first thing she noticed was the definite redecoration Ravenna had done. The second thing she noticed was the black glass flying in every direction. The third thing she noticed was William, being pushed against a wall, bleeding profusely. The fourth thing she noticed was Ravenna, throwing Snow White against a step, the resounding 'thud' probably audible from Debegri. The last thing she noticed was Finn, sliding along to the back door, the one that had linked the study to her father's bedroom. She clenched her teeth and hurried after him, but paused at the sound of Snow White's tortured yell. Rose paused, turning her head. Snow White held her hand to her head, the other clutching her sword. Ravenna looked unscathed, smiling even. Rose bit her lip, conflicted, looking from the back door to Snow. Oh, why was life so unfair to her?

She would surely find Finn if she followed along the back door. She could make him pay for all the misery he'd caused her, all the nightmares she'd had of him, all the happiness he'd robbed her of. She could sleep at last untroubled, knowing that the man who had destroyed her—the _real_ monster—was finally gone from the world, and could haunt her no more. She could look at Snow White without prejudice in her heart for the starkly different ways they had grown up. She could thank her lost loved ones for taking her as far as they did.

Or she could turn around and save the people who needed her the most. She could spare brave Eric, valiant William and sweet Snow White another moment of having to fight for freedom from a tyrant. She could reclaim what belonged to her. She could sacrifice this one last thing—her revenge—to save thousands.

With a groan, she turned on her heel and tiptoed behind Ravenna, who had bent herself over Snow White. Rose pulled her knife from her pocket.

"You think me a fool, Rosie?" Ravenna whispered, turning around and slamming the back of her hand against Rose's face. Rose slid across the room, stopping at last behind a wall.

"Rosie!" called William, lunging forward. A shard of glass pinned the chainmail of his sleeve to the pillar, blocking any movement. William struggled against it fruitlessly. Rose sat up, hiding her knife in her pocket as Ravenna approached her. Snow White sat up, released from Ravenna's chokehold, holding a hand over her bleeding head, struggling to get to her feet. Rose pulled herself up.

"I haven't the faintest idea how you survived that rose I gave you," Ravenna said. "But I think this is a good sign."

"Sign of what?" Rose said, clutching at her hip and leaning against the wall.

"That you and I were meant to meet today," Ravenna answered simply. "I told you, Rose, together we are invincible."

"Are you mad?" Rose asked. "If I didn't agree to it out there, what makes you think I'd find the offer more appealing now that you've thrown me clean across a room?"

"I don't know. Why did you awaken from the spell I placed on the rose knowing that the world you lived in was truly so miserable?"

"Because I have to make things right!" Rose said. "There's too much I have to finish. I can't side with you. You've taken too much from me."

"And yet I have seen you grow in defiance of that," Ravenna said, coming so close to Rose now that their noses touched. Rose's finger tightened around the handle of her knife. "I've watched you, Rosie. What hasn't killed you has made you stronger. What drives you drives me. We are one and the same."

"No, we're not," said Rose. "We're nothing alike."

Ravenna sighed, raising a hand. A large shard of black glass flew into her palm. She reached forward, holding Rose still, as she ran the knife along the strings of Rose's stitches. Rose bit into her tongue, refusing to let a sound escape her as blood began to flow unchecked. Ravenna smiled at her.

"Look how strong time has made you, Rosie," she said almost soothingly. "Look at how your endurance has made you into a Queen worthy of an empire. Such as the one you and I could build together. And we _could_ build one together. All I need is a heart."

"That's the problem," said Snow, raising her hand and sliding her sword into Ravenna's side. Ravenna paused, dropping Rose to the ground. "You can't have my heart. It's too well protected. And you can't have Rose. She's too strong for you."

Ravenna stared at them both, bags beginning to form under her eyes. Rose felt her own mouth beginning to fill with blood. She spit out a mouthful quietly, watching as Ravenna slowly, slowly aged into something much older than Rose had anticipated. Her hair grayed, her skin paled and sagged, her body grew thin and limp until there was nothing, nothing but ashes where she lay. The sound of shattered glass hit the floor as William and Eric clambered to their feet. William ran towards Rose, pulling her up to a sitting position.

"For God's sake, Rosie," Snow said. "You were supposed to stay at Duke Hammond's!"

"And if I had, you'd be dead," Rose said flatly, watching as Eric ripped a piece of fabric from Ravenna's dress and pressed it to Rose's open cut.

"This thing is never gonna heal if it keeps opening like this," Eric said. Snow nodded.

"At least now she can get some rest," Snow said.

"Snow," Rose began. "You know I can't rest."

Snow sighed. "Could you two give us a moment?"

Eric nodded, leading William to the corner and leaving Snow to take over pressurizing Rose's wound.

"Snow, you can't possibly think I followed you all this way to hear the word 'no'," Rose said. Snow nodded.

"I figured you wouldn't," Snow said.

"And I'm going to find him—with or without your approval. I _need_ to do this."

"I know you do," Snow said, looking at Rose with tired eyes. "I'm just worried about what this will do to _you_."

"I have to go after him," Rose continued. "I have to face him."

Snow looked at Rose's wound for a few moments, her eyes glassy and unreadable. "I'll bring him to you if we find him," Snow said. "I suppose I owe you that much."

"You should not be so downtrodden, Snow," Rose said. "He deserves this."

"Such acts of torture as revenge are not in your nature. Or mine."

"You think I won't do it if given the opportunity?" Rose asked.

"No, Rosie, I know you will," Snow said. "I'm just afraid of what doing it will turn you into."

And the forlorn look in Snow's eyes alerted Rose to the fact that this was the great sacrifice that Snow had never had the opportunity to make before in her lifetime. Letting Rose confront the evil that had destroyed her—rather than keep it from her—was what Snow White would consider to be unbearable. And yet here it was. And suddenly, Rose felt as though she had let Snow White down. And it stunned Rose to think that Snow ever had any expectations from her in the first place. But then Rose thought of the night she killed that first deer in her bedroom. She remembered Snow, walking into the room when no one else would, pulling her out of that room and wiping the blood away, forcing the words into Rose's head: 'You are _not_ a monster.' And it occurred to Rose that the same anger that plagued her in the past few days could have equaled the heartbreak that plagued Snow. That maybe Snow White hadn't been refusing her all this time simply to spite her. That maybe she had refused her because she had wanted something better for Rose than what had instead become of her. But Rose could not let this get to her, not now when she was so close. If she could live with anger, then Snow could live with disappointment.

"Thank you, Snow," Rose breathed.

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

It was about an hour after Rose retired to bed at last when there came a knock upon her door. She looked up from her pillow, pulling her robe over her shoulders and limping towards the door, steadying herself with her newly acquired staff.

"My lady," said a young boy as she opened the door. "Your presence is requested in the entrance courtyard. Your sister has someone she wants you to see."

Rose nodded, her heart beat steadily rising. "Alright."

The boy led her down the spiral staircase, through the various familiar corridors, past all of the parlors and drawing rooms and galleries she had grown so accustomed to as a child. When they arrived at last at the courtyard, at least half the castle was standing there, cheering wildly. A blacksmith was at the side, tossing the tip of his sword into a fire. Rose looked around eagerly, her eyes widening as she found at last what she had been looking for.

Snow stood nearest to the door, her hands clenched together tightly. Her brows were knit into sadness and anxiety. Eric stood beside her, a hand upon her shoulder comfortingly. Duke Hammond stayed tight-lipped against the pillar, his arms crossed. William was not far behind, blank faced and appropriately solemn, though when his eyes landed on Finn they took on a dark hostility and his fingers twitched towards his sword. Finn himself had done a bit of aging since Rose had last seen him. He probably would not have, if Ravenna was still alive. He was on his knees, hands cuffed tightly behind his back. He looked up when he saw Rose. His face fell. He recognized her.

Rose's heart beat wildly, so strong that she thought it might jump from her throat. She could not understand why her hands were shaking wildly, why they suddenly felt cold and bloodless. This was what she had been waiting for, what she had been dreaming of. She took a step forward. The people parted as she proceeded. Rose would have walked straight into them if they hadn't. She wasn't looking at anyone but him—everything else was just a part of a blurred background that she couldn't bring herself to try and focus on. Slowly, that blur became red. She felt her teeth grind together. A hand slipped into hers, warm and reassuring, the only thing that could reach her right then. She turned her eyes from Finn. It was Snow, with tears streaming down her face as she released Rose to collect what Snow knew was rightfully hers. And there was Snow's heartbreak again, her disappointment, her desire for something better for Rose than what became of her. Rose looked into Snow's eyes, and she saw the same anger that plagued her. Snow must have been angry, especially after finally learning the truth about their mother. And yet here she was, holding the hand of the girl that euthanized her. How could Snow forgive so easily? How could she have looked Rose in the eye two days ago and told her that Rose still had a chance at humanity, while the tears still streamed down her face at the discovery of her mother's demise? Snow had her own strength—the strength to forgive. A strength that Rose had given up on many years ago.

Rose pulled her hand from Snow's grip, reaching instead for the sword that the blacksmith had tipped into the fire. She tightened her fingers around the hilt, pulling it from the flame. The tip glowed orange. Finn bit his lip, clearly fighting back a whimper. His brows furrowed into submission as Rose stepped forward. She knelt down before him, holding the tip of the glowing knife up to his eye, so close to each other that they could both feel the heat. She paused less than an inch from his skin. His eyes were wide with anticipation. Rose could not imagine why, but as her eyes were glued to Finn's, her mind suddenly forced the image of Snow's tear-stained face into focus. Rose blinked it away, but it came back sharply. She shut her eyes tightly, willing the memory of that day in the Dark Forest to return, to fan the flame that was her anger, to make her blood boil within her like it did when she first awoke from her poisonous spell with red in her vision and murder on her mind. But Snow White came back to her mind. Her mother came back to her mind. Lucian came to her mind. The guard she had killed in the Sanctuary came to mind. With surprising clarity, the face of every person she had killed came back to her. Finn would soon join that list, join the others whose blood dripped from her hands. Rose shut her eyes tighter, the sounds of the crowd eager to see an execution seeming subdued for a moment when suddenly—with her eyes closed and her ears blocking the noise—everything came sharply into focus.

She was a damaged good, nothing like Snow White, who had lived isolated but sweet and willing and loving of everything. Yet there was that hart, promising Rose that her heart still had room for mercy, for innocence, for forgiveness. Promising her that she was not the monster she believed herself to be the night she made her first slaughter in her bedroom, or when she put her mother out of her suffering. The monster her father claimed she was. The monster she believed she had become when she killed Lucian weeks earlier. Snow White had forgiven Rose. If Rose could not bring herself to forgive Finn, then why on Earth should she expect forgiveness from Snow? And there, she came to understand that it was love that had preserved this fragment of her, the same way that love had preserved all of Snow White. Rose's love for the sister that never gave up on her, for the father that tried to understand her, for the mother that must have believed in her, for the kingdom that struggled along without her, and most clearly, for the boy who had silently loved her in return. True, Rose had lost innocence in plenty, and she had lost kindness and purity and sweetness. But without loss, there was no love, and without love, there was no purity. Rose's love was what had kept her troubled mind from turning on itself from devastation, from making her as empty-hearted as Ravenna. And although Rose felt at times as though her heart had turned inveterately black, the white hart that had kissed her face that day in the Sanctuary had told her what she had never heard anyone tell her before—she was not irredeemable. She could never be what Snow White was, but she could be pure again.

Rose opened her eyes, the screams of the crowd returning to her. She looked into Finn's eyes as her own began to well up again. For the first time in years, a tear slid down her cheek. She dropped the sword. It fell to the ground, smoke rising from the tip as it hit the watery stone. Finn blinked at her. She rose to her feet, turning away from him and walking back up the steps. Snow caught her hand again. Rose squeezed it reassuringly, avoiding every eye as she walked back through the halls and up the steps to the first parlor she found. It was her parent's parlor. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it and letting the tears fall quietly. What was this lightness that had suddenly replaced the weight of iron blocks on her chest? What was this calm that had overtaken the anger within her so easily?

Tranquility. Rose pulled herself to her feet, opening the door. Snow was standing on the other side of it, her hand extended to the doorknob. She paused at the sight of Rose.

"You'll make such a fine queen," Snow said at last, wiping at her tears. Rose shook her head.

"You know I can't, Snow," Rose said. "I'd drive these people mad. I'd probably be worse than Ravenna."

Snow giggled, her eyes still moist. Rose slid her hand into Snow's.

"Tabor is tired of bitterness and devastation," Rose said. "It can keep the wisdom, but it also needs an idealist. Someone with an excess of optimism and kindness. Like you."

"You think yourself unkind?" Snow asked.

"I think myself tainted," Rose answered. "Unlike you. Tabor needs you. They need peace of mind. And to be honest, so do I."

Snow bit her lip. "It's going to be a lot of work, fixing this all up. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"I won't leave you alone with it," Rose said. Snow smiled.

"You'll stay for to watch me fail?"

"I'll stay to advise you."

"I'll need a Grand Vizier, I suppose."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Princess Rose Red, the Grand Vizier."

"Princess? It sounds too childish. How can anyone take me seriously as a Grand Vizier if I have 'Princess' before my name?"

"Well, then what would you have?"

"I'd have...something equal to 'princess'..." Rose bit her lip. "Archduchess. Archduchess Rose Red, Grand Vizier."

"Archduchess? It sounds appropriate. But Tabor hasn't had one of those in ages."

"Then it's definitely appropriate."

Snow smiled at Rose, and for a moment Rose's heart lifted. She could see the pride in her eyes. It was the first time anyone had looked at Rose with pride. Rose smiled back, allowing Snow to wrap her arms around her, embracing her softly. Rose winced.

"Ribs, Snow. Stitches."

"Sorry," Snow whispered, moving her arms from Rose's torso and tightening around her neck instead.

And maybe it was because they had been so distracted by the task that was now behind them, but Rose noticed that they had not truly rejoiced at their reunion at all since they met that day by the icy river. Rose had not noticed how dearly she had missed having someone beside her who could not give up on her even when the time came that she had given up on herself. Rose had missed that girl that had bravely walked into a room that was spattered with blood while everyone else—even her own parents—only stared on. She had missed that girl that had led her out of the room by the hand and washed the blood off of her fingers and comforted her without even trying to discover the reason for her distress. Rose had missed Snow White, the only person in the world who had never asked what had happened in the Dark Forest, and only troubled herself with helping Rose move forward. Snow White had taken it upon herself to pull Rose out of the darkness without even troubling to learn what had caused her to fall into it in the first place. And with this, Rose came to return Snow White's embrace, because she knew at last that she had found the one person who could always turn her to the light.

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

Rose walked through the garden, eyeing the buds on each bush as the last traces of winter disappeared. The sky had taken on a dark midnight blue, granting a view of a wave of glitter that were the stars shining brightly above them. She paused to lean on the nearest pillar, looking out at the garden. There, standing tall in the center, was the temple of St. Adria. Rose sighed.

"You remember the night we spent there?" a voice asked behind her. She turned her head slightly as William appeared behind her, the candlelight casting a dim glow on his face. She smiled.

"All the time," she said. "My favorite hiding spot."

"You were always hiding," William said, smiling as he held out his arm. Rose laid a hand on it and they proceeded along the pathway.

"You should be inside," Rose said. "We don't get Coronation Balls every day."

"So should you, Archduchess," he said back. She smiled.

"I like it. It sounds regal and all that."

"I'm just glad you're staying," William said as they turned a corner.

"Why wouldn't I?" Rose asked. "I couldn't leave Snow to pick up the pieces by herself."

"I imagined you capable of it," William said. "Leaving."

"Well, even if I left," Rose said, shrugging. "She'd still have Eric and Duke Hammond and you."

"She'd have Duke Hammond and Eric," William said. "But she wouldn't have me."

Rose looked at him. "Why not?"

"I'd be long gone," William answered. "Chasing after you."

They stopped just beside the temple, leaning against the marble.

"You were always chasing me," Rose said.

"You were always making me chase you," William replied calmly. "Why were you always making me chase you?"

"To see if you'd come after me."

"I'll always come after you," William said quietly. His brow furrowed.

"William," Rose began, her own brow creasing with confusion. "You had a dream about an orange grove."

"I did," he said. 

"So did I," Rose whispered. William smiled.

"You think it could be a sign?" he asked. Rose shrugged again.

"Perhaps. I choose not to believe such things."

"Well, I do," William said, smiling wider. "It's a sign."

Rose smiled at this, too, rolling her eyes and looking back at St. Adria. William slid a hand around her waist, holding her closer.

"I can imagine it," Rose said. "You coming after me if I'd left Tabor City."

"You should have gathered by now that I couldn't leave you alone. Wherever you go, I will follow."

"Really? Then could you follow me to Dovine's Port?" Rose asked. "There's someone there I've been meaning to visit."

"How long will we be gone?"

"Just a few days. Let her know I've taken care of my business. And maybe she'll be glad to see Russav again."

"Alright. Wait until you are fully recovered," William said. "And then you shall name the day we leave."

Rose nodded, looking back at St. Adria. "She's been watching over us, William."

William held Rose tightly there in the garden, just as he had that December night so many years ago. He leaned forward, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"I've been waiting to steal that back," he said quietly. She leaned her head over his heart, finally learning that it was indeed forgiveness, and not vengeance, that had fostered her peace of mind.


End file.
